Bon Iver
by andI'mstillinlove
Summary: One of my ill conceived babies. If muses deem it so, ill update perhaps. Inconsistent, and a lot of jumbled ideas.
1. Chapter 1

**Arthurian Romances...  
With lesbians.**

It smelt like rain. Over the moors, you could see thunderheads gathering in the distance. It was a summer rainstorm, which meant it promised torrential downpours, and head-splitting lightning displays. The air felt charged, as if the very energy of the lightning was harnessed by the air all around. The armies stood, facing each other. Banners, torn and soiled with dirt, blood, and mud hung limp, all but tattered remains of their former shining glory. It was Sunday. The day of rest. But there was no rest for us. No rest for the wicked. You could see their warlord, proud, tall, erect, and flanked by his personal bodyguard. He wore nothing more than ceremonial armour and pants. He was, as they all were, covered in their brutish, sick war paint, or more like clay if you were to ask any civilized Briton. The warlord opened his mouth, and we knew the customary shriek which would signal the charge of the first line was approaching. But as he let loose (what I am told) was the most savage, piercing, eerie call to arms of the Picts, I heard nothing. I saw her instead. I heard her voice in the place of the raging barbarian horde rushing into meet us. The first ringing of shields, axes, claymores, daggers, flails, maces, and cleavers only dully reached my ears. They were filled with the sound of us, together.

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It wasn't always like this. There was a time when I was this land's shining pinnacle. I had been the absolute standard others were held against. I was entrusted with everything. Perhaps that was where my downfall had sprouted from. I'm most certain that's the only place I can think of. Perhaps the king's trust in me, his absolute unwaivering faith and belief in me tripped the dangerous trap I fell into. Though by blaming my liege, all I do is take the blame and shoulder it to another. The simple fact of the matter was that it never meant to happen. Yet it did. It was my fault, and perhaps her fault as well, though, true to how I was always raised, I took the blame in the end, not her. I couldn't let it happen, not to her. It reminds me of the tales of Lancelot du Loc I heard as a child. How could you not know of the story? A faithful, and perhaps the most trusted and loved knight of all, whisked away King Arthur's one true, pure, and beautiful treasure. I feel much as Lancelot must have felt. So I cannot complain when I was given the lead to the already doomed charge against the encroaching Pict menace. I deserved the blade. Or perhaps the fire. They all said I did. They also said she did as well. But I would never let that happen, never to her.

I stood in front of court, that black day in Winter's deadest sleep, and, never leaving her gaze, I lied to my sworn and sovereign lord. I spun a whole tale of deception, trickery, seduction, and un-consented love. I did this all the while staring right into those deep, dark pools of blue. I imagine when I am skewered upon a Pict spear that as my soul flies down to hell, it will be the shade of blue that her eyes were. She said nothing, and did nothing. I could not have asked her to. I'm not even entirely sure that she would have, if given the opportunity to. I could not lie and put down that I was beyond all reasonable doubts, beyond all signs sure enough to lay down my life, that she really loved me. But I know, beyond all reasonable doubts, and signs, and omens, and logics, that I loved her. And that I love her, to this day. I fell from the highest graces of heaven, much as Lucifer did, the monks tell me on the way to the Wall. I was tempted with something that I should never have partaken in, much as Adam and Eve, the monks tell me in the mire of mud that we become trapped in. I represent the destruction of the true moral and Christian values that the king, and our people have come to hold above our old customs. I cannot say how I feel about this. I cannot quite pin down the exact feeling I get when I hear words whispered in venomous, low whispers. It is...almost no feeling at all, and yet, it is a powerful feeling, encroaching upon my very soul. If I even posses a soul. Or so the monks hint to me on the eve of battle.

I know I will die on this black day. But I cannot find fear within myself. I cannot find regret, anger, or penance for what I have done. I have searched my soul, far and wide, in this country and in others, and I can find no fault in myself. Except, perhaps, not spending enough time with her. Does this make much difference to her, or how she's living now? No, of course not. I joke with myself to ever even think that she spares me a thought. I am a fallen angel. A broken holy vessel. I channeled the very Lord and God Almighty within me. And I threw it away. Not for pride, or for vanity. I threw it away on a lady. I know what I should feel, and that when my sentence was passed, I should have fallen upon his feet and kissed his robes as I had kissed her. I should have thanked him for his insurmountable wisdom and charity. His generousness and his grace that he gave to me. But I could do nothing but stare at her. How could I take my eyes off of her? The absolute core of my ruin, the seed of my destruction, the forbidden fruit in my garden of Eden. I could find no fault in that flawless skin, nor in those deep pits that stared straight ahead. She kept my gaze, but never did I see a flicker of the woman I love. I suppose she never existed. Or maybe, she just couldn't survive in this world.

I feel certain that I was not destined to long live in this world. I am only twenty four, but I feel like this is the end of this leg of my journey. Perhaps the love we found was not supposed to exist here, at this given time, with these given people, and our given circumstances. Perhaps. I find these answers and more swimming in my weary and sore head. I find my heart tightening at all of these conclusions. But I still feel happy when she skips into my mind. Much as I felt when she skipped into my life. The tale is long and winding, and there is no real moral for what I have to say, but I feel that, much as is my nature, she needs a tribute to her. She needs a record of her exquisite beauty and goodness. She needs a testament that will outlive her and I. A tablet of the purest love I ever knew, even if no one else thought as much. She will never read this, and this will probably be looted, barely read, if at all, and destroyed once the Picts conquer us anew.

You shouldn't be reading this if you are. It's only the account of a fallen knight. A defeated lover. A tale of a love that should never have been. But was. And lives on in eternity, even if no one cares to remember it existed. I remember. I love her.

--Theres ALL sorts of issues with this one. It's ill conceived, not thought out, inconsistent in terms of words, time frame, story, all of it. I like it though. We'll see if my muses visit me again in the night to continue this on. Either way, I like it.


	2. Chapter 2

I was taken in to be a squire by the time I was thirteen. It's a typical "rescued by a beloved and trusted knight", and I felt as I myself was in some sort of new telling of the Arthurian Legends. Alain was the father I did not ever recall in my life. Kind, gentle, stern, and always disciplined. True, I never and still do not know the circumstances that drove me into his hearth, and to become his charge. I cannot even recall when it really happened, I know I was adopted by the age of four, and everything before, and partially after is clouded over. I am told my mother died in childbirth, or of the plague. It always depended on the person telling the story which version I would receive. My father...well I suppose he just did not want me enough to make the effort to keep me. So, I was taken in by Alain, his own wife had died in childbirth, and he was childless. I felt at times like a fill in that he always had tried to force into a peg that his own family left. Perhaps that was the root of all the problems. Perhaps I had finally found something that vaguely resembled love, the kind of love I had never experienced in my life. She did not count in the end I suppose, or filled in the love I was missing. But that is only pushing off blame to another person, again. It was always my fault in the end, truth be told. I digress.

That is not to say Sir Alain was not the best of a mentor figure I could have received. He taught me the art of combat, versed me in Latin, taught me to read, write, and to wage war on both the battlefield and in the mind. Chivalry was perhaps the one idea that doomed me more than anything. Perhaps I had taken the ideals too seriously, the code too literally. I like to think I did not understand the idea of romancing from afar. I had never been one for subterfuge or deceit, and I never spoke around the issue. The more I consider it, the more I believe that quite simply, I had just forgotten the most important lesson of all, after one look into those deep expanses, I hardly remembered to breathe. True, by all laws, expectations, and codes established, I should not, in any circumstance, have been given the right and guarantee to become a knight someday. Somehow though, Alain appealed to the king, our king, my king, and convinced him of this brave, headstrong, and somewhat foolish young girl who would in his own words "create the very knight of yore" that my lord was in dire need of. For you see, I came of age in an era that was hard-pressed for "knights of yore" or for any knights at the point we had reached as a country.

True, the kingdoms had been united for a time, but quite some time before I was born, we had broken again. The main issue was the newly self-proclaimed High King (a title not held since the Pendragon line) Bercilak. He had in his legions the northern portion of our fair island, and the truce long held between the Saxons and our old kingdom had long since disappeared. It seemed as if we were to be plunged into a civil war, and a war with the Saxons. Needless to say, our island would not survive another sundering of our lands and peoples again. Not without divine help (from this new God or from our old Pagan rites) and a bevy of knights. This situation, not real luck or providence convinced the king to accept me at the age of thirteen as a squire. It just so happened, that for the last nine years of my existence given to me, Alain had been a just, fair, and gentle guardian to my growth. My luck did not long hold.

His name was Lord Calogrenant. If there were ever a man who enjoyed beatings, lashings, and brutal brawls, it was Lord Calogrenant. I can still lift the mail I wear at this moment and count out the number of scars on my stomach and chest alone. He hated knights. He hated Southerners (I hailed from Tintagel, a miserable spit of land now long abandoned). And most highly above all, he hated women. In me, he found what he truly despised, and I added insult to injury that I had been given this chance to become a knight. I still remember arriving there, kneeling at his door, and promptly being beaten for many minutes with a sheathed claymore which weighed more than I did at the time. I did all house chores, all stable duties, and tended to his weapons, estate, and personal affairs single-handedly. If any one detail was out of place to him, it was the claymore, Oak staff, or other objects he could find. Two years passed.

I emerged from his useless tutelage none the more skilled in archery, riding, sword play, or combat, but with a collection of scars that made even grizzled Pelleas grimace when shown. I was called to court the day after passing fifteen years of age. I will never forget that moment, arriving fresh from the saddle, with dirty, rusted, and disgraceful chain mail, I fell to my knees and gave loud and reverent thanks to my new liege for his grace and wisdom to send me to Lord Calogrenant. He merely threw back his head and laughed what I imagine God must laugh like. Loud, long, and proud did he laugh, not caring to let anyone in on what he found so joyously funny. Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, he rose, and I with him, only to be swept into a crushing embrace like I had never known in my life. He spoke the first loving words I had ever heard in my life;

"God bless you child, you survived Lord Calogrenant. You are in dire need of some wine."

When I say my life resembled that of an Arthurian tale, I told no lie, and made no jest. I went from living in a constant hell of pain and agony to being treated like a respected liege. I slept in stables before then, and now I had my own chambers, my own bed, with a real pillow, and actual blankets. I was still teased about the first time I was shown my new quarters. I fell onto the floor and sobbed a solid hour onto the flagstone, crying how beautiful and glorious these chambers were and that surely "God has struck me down and I have arrived in heaven." If only. The very next day, I was given squireship to a new lord. His name was Marrok. He taught me the craft of battle, and all of my skill that I wield a claymore, a mace, a flay, an axe, or any weaponry you can name, I owe to that glorious knight. He taught me the idea of courtly love (which he practiced with many of the ladies of the court) and how to be true to what you believe. He taught me how to not fear death, and in me, he revived the long dead concept of WYRD.

In WYRD I found a new meaning to my life, and a release to all my worldly fears. In this idea, it was told that WYRD governed all forms of life. It was what we may call...fate, or God's will. Though when compared to the other two, WYRD was what defined my youth. I did everything in my life proudly proclaiming that WYRD was governing my every movement. If that is truly the case, then I curse WYRD and what it had brought me. My tutelage with the godly Marrok was cut at the age of seventeen. He was accused of being a werewolf, of witchcraft, and making sacred pacts with Satan. He was executed. Thusly, I could never reconcile myself with God or with this new Christianity that was taking root. It took away one of my favorite father figures, and I miss him, even to this day. He had imparted on me all he could, and after the execution, and brief moral scuffle that ensued over whether I myself had partaken in his supposed black rites, I was dubbed a knight.

At seventeen years of age, I became, to my knowledge, the only knight who was a girl, and the rare knight under the age of twenty. I was resented by most for this sudden upshot in rankings, but I paid no attention to it. I had not yet experienced my first battle (we will hear that tale) and I was still young, fresh, and more than excited to dirty my new blade. My opportunity came that summer before my next birthday, and brought me one step closer to the abyss that I fell into. It proved my first encounter with women.

--Still no real consistency here, don't get mad at me about it.


	3. Chapter 3

The fighting had been ceased for the winter, which perfectly coincided with my dubbing. So I found myself sitting night after night in a warm, mead filled hall, with my title and sword gathering dust. I desperately wished for a secret offensive, from either Bercilak, or the Saxon leader. I wanted plot, intrigue, deception, and betrayal, any excuse to stop playing chess with the other newly dubbed knights, or to stop debating God versus our old and dying Pagan system with the older knights. Our king was scarce those days, he had tributes to collect, disputes to settle, and battle preparations for the spring thaw to see to. That left us with little else to do, and with no king or tasks assigned by the king to attend to. And if there is one thing above all else, a bored warband is indeed a wasteful thing. I like to think it was the new title, and the fact that all I wanted to do was charge my sword into the nearest Saxon I could grasp my hands on. I was not long in the waiting.

The king's seat of power at that time was in an old Roman fort, fortified many times over with stone, and built upon to include a small village, with outposts lying several miles away in all directions. We called it for a time Caer Legionis. It just so happened that we were on a steep hill, or even mount I suppose which overlooked a small valley that led out to the sea, and flooded annually in accordance with the spring thaw, and summer floods. The water was out for the winter, leaving a sandy inlet that led straight into the roaring tides. It was almost Pentecost when our coastal watchtower spotted several Saxon ships inbound for the dry safety of our inlet. The alarm was rang while I was dozing in a warm corner, and I very nearly tipped over as the call rang from room to room. Engres nearly shook my head from my bones waking me up before dashing out of the room. I had no real time to prepare other than donning a thin mail shirt and greaves, managing only to take a hold of my sword before being shouted out to the stables. We rode up a veritable storm arriving at the shore line, where a small company roused from the near village stood.

Two scouts on foot were sent down into the sandy ravine to count numbers and arms that we were to face. They returned with the slightly distressing number of over one hundred men, all on foot and armed to the tooth with heavy weaponry. We numbered at about sixty or so if I recollect rightly, and most were light weaponeers. I could not even count myself as a soldier, and many jabs were taken at me at my lack of readiness and no shield or real armour of which to speak. Therefore, when names were asked to be volunteered to lead the first infantry charge, I shouted my name above the rest, and won the "honour" of leading twenty of our heavy fighters into the mob. We were ordered to wait until suitable ranks were established in the Saxon ranks in order to provide a clear attacking point in their organization. After a period of several hours, it became apparent that the mob they had formed were their "formation" and no more time could be wasted. Clouds gathered overhead, and light, cold rain began falling. We wasted no time clambering down the steep and sandy slopes to gather ourselves at the far end of the inlet.

There was a distant shout, and the sound of a shrill, piercing battle horn before the very ground beneath our feet began to shake. They made the dear mistake of only sending a chunk of thirty or so at one time, so as to avoid becoming choked and caught between a surprise attack further in. The shouts and screams of beserkers rushing full force was enough even to un-nerve myself, so tough and sure not even ten minutes ago. My lack of any real heavy armour was noticed and sorely missed, and as the time between times fell off waiting for the charge to hit, I dearly dearly wished for a shield. I will never forget sighting my first charging Saxon. They were covered in mud and sand as if they had been rolling in the dirt for days, and their eyes were opened to horrific proportions. I could see spittle clinging to their wild, unkempt beards, and their tongues trilling some ancient, demonic chant to curse our souls to hell. I saw their eyes light up when they rested upon me, and that is why I had no reservations for taking the first blow, nimbly ducking underneath a colossal war hammer and severing his legs from his body. The first blood had been spilled.

For such big, brutish and intimidating foes, the Saxons remain to this day one of the most unorganized and messy fighters of all the world. They scream and run into waiting javelins, swinging axes and hammers as if they were sticks, hoping to land in meat instead of empty air. We made quick work of a foe that more than tripled our own girths, and were left gasping for salty air on top of a small mound of bodies. I had claimed my first lives that night, and despite all of the mental preparation that went into the taking of another man's life, I had no ill thoughts or qualms with it. Especially when the rest of the Saxon invasion force was barreling down the funneled channel to reach us. I let out the first of many war cries, and led the charge on the incoming charge, managing to evade a giant axe twice my height and displacing the head of its wielder. I never once looked back to see if anyone still followed me, but ran it alone, as if it were I alone who were facing a hundred Saxons, and not the combined might of some sixty men. I stabbed quickly, and stepped lightly, always keeping low to the ground, and attacking vulnerable legs or heels, and occasionally lopping off a head as if it were an unruly branch on some tree.

I met my match halfway into the fray. He stood at least seven feet tall, and was as far as I could judge the leader of this particular warband. To say he was displeased at my being bathed in his followers blood would be to put it gently. He lifted perhaps the greatest sword I will ever see in my life, as wide as half a man, and as long as one or even two! I might have stopped, I cannot recall. I heard shouts behind me, which I could only assume was the rest of my force pouring down onto the barbarians as I stood and eyed the leader. He snarled something in that devilish language, and thrusted straight out, grazing my mail and knocking me to the floor. I rolled to one side, and if I had not, my head would have been gone, as sure as the sun rises and sets with each day. I managed to grasp my sword and take a swing, only having it glance off his crude armour of woven metal plates. He roared and took another stab which I somehow feinted, managing to land a glancing blow on his side. After this...things become hazy. I recall being stabbed by something in my back, but remaining standing. He raised his sword at the very moment I saw a white horse descend as swiftly as an angel from Heaven, ride by him, and take his arms from him. The sword was released, and while I anxiously looked to see what had struck me before, the sword came down horizontally onto my shoulder, my head nearly exploding in dazzling white before I lost thought.

I regained thought and vision, emerging from a soup of darkness and bloody images swathed onto my mind. I could clench my fingers, and move my legs, which was a sign that indeed, I had survived my very first run in with the Saxon horde. The room I was in was quiet, with not even a fire in the hearth. There was no light streaming in from the windows, so I assumed it was later on in the evening, as far as I could see in the inky darkness, no one else resided in my room with me, and I assumed safety had been achieved. The door opened, and a figure stood, framed by the moonlight streaming in, long braided hair streamed down, which gave me no cause for concern of any more attacks. The figure glided into the room and sat at the chair beside my bed. Her face was framed in the night, and she smelled of the salt air and fresh dew upon the grass. She bowed her head and seemingly in an instant, a candle was lit, and her face was illuminated. I recognized her from our hunts outside the Caer, she lived in one of the small villages beside each watchtower. I took this to mean she was in the King's favor, and that she was one of the guardians kin. She smiled softly, but still did not speak, staring at me instead, the mysterious smile still upon her fair lips.

I will take this brief interlude to explain myself, to perhaps...paint a more clear picture of how exactly this event came to pass as it did. For if I had been of a different persuasion we shall call it, then this night would have passed quite quietly and in relative peace. Most girls of my age were at the "marrying age" and as such, were to be given away to the most befitting knight or lord that saw fit to take her as her wife. I was spared this ancient custom by the solemn oaths of a knight, one of fidelity and chastity, and such as was the case of my being a girl, I was awarded the choice to marry or to not when the chance could perhaps present itself. I never spared much thought for love, or attraction in the least. I could not join in the talks of the young knights about the ladies of the court, nor could I join in the servant girls conversation about the young knights. I suppose that put me in a hard place, or a difficult one at the least, but I do not recall ever experiencing attraction, or lust even, as such the knights and ladies were caught in the merciless throes of. Despite never having bourne attraction at my age, I was still...certain of some things. One of these things was;

I was not attracted to men.

I had lived with every imaginable man you could have imagined. From the young knights who I kept company with to my mentors, the King, my father who was not of course my father, I had traveled up and down the veritable spectrum of men. I could not find anything that was...attractive or noteworthy. Of course, I knew many brave, audacious, just, wise, courageous, and godly men who I loved as much as I could love another being. But I never once found more than friend-like or knight-like ideas of them flitting across my mind. With girls however...I found them...attractive. This is not to say I wanted or lusted after them at any time before these events. I just noticed certain things about them. Such as when Clarine was nervous, she did a peculiar thing in which she averted her eyes from whom she was speaking with, or Elayne, with her stutter whenever she became upset or angry, particularly when duped or tricked by the younger squires. Perhaps these things did not matter much, but I made note on how I enjoyed watching the girls of the court immensely more than the men within the court.

I never learned her name. She had red hair and an ethereal smile, and perhaps the greenest eyes I had ever gazed upon. She reminded me of childhood tales of faerys and sprites who played within faery rings, lithe and small, slight and graceful, as if she floated upon the very wind that flowed throughout the room. I still at times believe I could had dreamt it, that event. But then again, if it were a dream, it was to be the first of many, as my encounters with women after that numbered many.

"A lady knight? I cannot say I have heard of that before."

She smiled that mysterious smile once more, and reclined in a chair.

"It was by mischance that it so happened that way, much as how I came to occupy your bed. I thank you for extending your hospitality to a lowly knight."

"Think not of it, I should be giving thanks, if not for your warband, we would have been over-run and slaughtered I am sure. Saxons do not look kindly upon our watchtowers by the sea."

"This is quite true my lady, tell me, are you one of the watchtower guardians kin then?"

"Verily young knight, my husband tends the light at the top and I see to his affairs in the home whilst he is away."

"And where is your husband now? Still tending the fires?"

"Nay, he is residing over the pyre for the Saxons, I was charged with your care until your band disposed of the Saxon bodies and divided the treasure."

I felt exhausted despite her light and tender company, and soon found myself drifting, but not before one more exchange between the two of us.

"Tell me, young one, are you married?"

I stifled a yawn, so as not to appear rude and disinterested in the lady.

"Nay my fair lady, my code of knighthood forbids it so, but if I chose it, I could."

"You have no desire to marry?"

This turn struck me as odd. Normally most did not inquire or care enough to ask why or when I was to be married. I suppose most figured my situation too difficult to ever consider marriage.

"I do no believe so, maiden. I cannot say I appreciate most mens company or their presence more than need be."

She smiled softly, which further perplexed me.

"You do not like men?"

This turning in the direction of the speech was somewhat odd and alien to where I had been before.

"I would not dare say that lady, but rather I know them too well to ever consider marriage to one feasible."

"And what of your feelings for women?"

I had never been indoctrinated in the "sin" of this...homosexuality before in my life. In our Pagan culture, I cannot recall ill words being spoken about the subject, rather then it being odd, what with child-bearing being defeated in its purpose. I had never met any before, though I had heard stories from Asia and Rome of the eccentricities and excess's of their culture and sexuality.

"Perhaps I misunderstand you my lady, what do you mean?"

She rose then, and sat at my bedside, placing a gentle, cool hand on my cheek.

"What I mean to say, courageous knight, is, have you ever loved a woman, perhaps as you once loved a man?"

If I were to say what my thoughts were at this point, it would amount to essentially a huge blank canvas.

"My lady, are you suggesting romantics with another woman?"

She bit her lip, and bent down closer to my face to the point where her sweet breathe passed over my face as if it were a zephyr from heaven.

"My dear brave knight, that is _exactly_ what I am suggesting to you."

She closed the gap between us, and that was my first kiss. I cannot find one definite, concrete word to describe it, but I will try my best to do so now. It was...slow, and languid, much as the river that fed into the ocean near the Caer. It called to my mind lazy afternoons half asleep in the forest, sunlight filtering through the patchwork of leaves, and painting beautiful images upon the ground. She was soft, warm, and yielding, framing my face with her delicate and small hands. I could feel her entire being exhale and inhale against my own self, and felt as if we were joined, or bonded perhaps by something that could not possibly ever be explained by human words. She withdrew after untold time had fallen from space and passed us by. She glided out of that room as quietly as she had entered, and I fell into a deep cumbersome sleep that lead me when wakening to believe it was a dream.

It was not, however, a dream, because when I was awoken by Engres and told we were leaving for the Caer, I found tucked within my mail, a small bracelet of woven red cloth. I wear it to this day.


	4. Chapter 4

-happy one year and four months eh. The hole is still yawning. The void is growing. The need is not lessening.

I still recall the jealousy she had when gazing upon that bracelet. More than once, she had demanded it be burned. And more than once, it had gotten me to smile because of her misplaced jealousy. I will never forget after a particularly heated...well heated encounter, she swore she would leave our King, on the single condition that I name my first kiss, so that she could find her, and make it so that I was only hers. I never got the chance to tell her that I was hers from the moment I saw her. Nor did I ever procure the chance to tell her I would gladly do what she asked, after all, I just wanted her. I wish I had known she was lying. Or perhaps I do not wish that. Perhaps I would not change a detail or event that occurred, even if it meant I was not here, on this miserable battlefield.

As I said, when I awoke on that misty morning, no one was there, and even after my insistent inquiries to the knights, old and young, no one could tell me who she was. Sometimes I wish perhaps I had fallen in love with her, and not the Queen. But I digress. I suppose when I die, which will be soon, that I will be able to ask Satan, or perhaps some other sort of keeper can answer me when I get down to my predestined spot. We returned to the castle on that morning, and I was brought to the Kings private chamber for a requested audience. I scarcely could breathe in those long drawn out minutes before he appeared. My arm had almost been cleaved from its joint, and yet the dull pain was nothing compared to the tightness in my chest. Finally, he appeared from a door hidden from view. He had a serious, sombre look on his face, and kept his hands clasped in front of him. He did not look pleased, or proud. I was most certain that he was going to rule my execution that very second. He came to a stop bare inches away from me. I took this moment in between moments to note with surprise that he was perhaps only several years older than myself. He remained there, closer than most men cared to get to me. He clapped me on the back violently, and I felt as if my skeleton was being yanked out of my body.

"Excellently done! And with only a mail shirt and an old claymore to be certain!!!"

I stood in shock.

"Do not be modest, come, sit with me by the hearth, we will drink to your victory!"

I was in such shock I did not even pause to realize I was going to be drinking with the King. All my mind could process was that I was NOT going to be executed. He sat me before himself, and when he had settled across from me and poured us drinks from a decanter of hot mulled wine. He smiled at me through the mist cast up by the warm wine. He looked almost as if he were a smiling god, or perhaps some form of a mythical prince, I would even have believed he to be King Arthur in those moments. He took a long draught from his cup before slamming it back on the board.

"You do not know what you have done, do you?"

I averted my eyes, nervous again as to being executed. He grabbed my cup and threw it back in one gulp, smiling like a bear at me.

"You killed Paulus!"

I stared in bewilderment still. He slammed the board with his broad hand and shook my bones once more. He grinned even wider at me, his dark eyes glittering benignly.

"Paulus!! He had been attacking and crippling my shipping routes to the North for months now!"

I finally found my voice, after realizing indeed, I would not die by the axes stroke or the swords shrill singing.

"But I...sire...I did not slay this...Paulus. If you are referring to the Titan that nearly cleaved my arm off by accident alone, it was a knight on a white horse who felled him. Not I."

A cloud passed over his face momentarily. I continued uncertainly, afraid I would upset the King further.

"I was struck with the thought that it was you, sire. He was on a white horse, and carried a shield white washed and emblazoned with a bright red cross."

His cloudy face soon disappeared, once again replaced with that dazzling bearish grin. It was like the flash of lightning before the clap of thunder, his booming laughter shaking the very keystone in the arch behind us. I stared in wonder, how could a man, in no way no older than I by a few years, seem so god like?

"It was the white knight!!"

My eyes widened. By that he could not be suggesting...

"Surely my lord, you jest!"

He roared again, slapping the table repeatedly with his paw of a hand.

"I do not, fair knight! It was the white knight! I only ever knew of one man who would don the red cross, and that most certainly was no pretender that saved your soul."

I stared in awe, now both thankful and in shock. THE white knight had ridden down that hill so determinedly to save me.

"Well, even if it was not you who slayed Paulus, you most certainly took many a Saxon arm and leg. I even heard of beheadings, while running! That is a true skill, especially in the damp sand and failing light."

I beamed, pleased with his praise.

"My lord, all I do, I do for you, and in the name of our kingdom."

"There is however...one thing that displeased me immensely upon hearing of it."

My smile dropped, as did my heart. He stood up so suddenly his chair flew out from under him, and he clapped three thunderous times. Serving boys appeared seemingly out of the very stone of the walls around us, all bearing chests in their arms.

"...I heard that the one knight who surpassed all bravery, fortitude, and skill in the inlet was ill prepared. God-forbid you had met a more formidable foe then what you did, that thin mail and old rusted thing would never have protected you."

He crossed himself, bade the servants to deposit the boxes, and dismissed them with another three thunderous claps. I felt as if I was in the presence of God himself, or perhaps our Elder Gods, those who were so pure and full of light, all who they touched in mortal form was forever blessed and given shares of the wealth of the earth. He approached the chests, four in all, and motioned for me to flip open the lids in turn. Anything I could have imagined was nothing compared to what met my eyes. Fresh from the smithy, shining as bright as a Cherubs smile, and of the most dazzling plates was a new set of armour. Down to the very last detail, it was delicately carved with images of crosses, horses, and tall striking knights doing battle. The stories portrayed on these plates were more beautiful than the tapestries on the King's chambers. I looked to the King wildly, I believed this a test, or a jest on his part. He only smiled.

"We had to get the ladies in waiting to stand still to measure out these plates!"

He threw back his head and laughed as if the walls would melt from his force.

"We had quite a time getting these prepared in time, but here they are young knight. And with a little growing room, I expect you will be employed in my warband for quite some time."

I was not even aware of the tears streaming down my face until he handed me an embroidered cloth, and patted me on the back. He stood next to me, this young god and myself, and we admired the beauty of the plates. My heart felt at once, constricted, and yet, full and free as a bird that flew over the rocky shores of our home.

"I see myself in you, my lady. It is amazing how the most unlikely person will make the most courageous and daring knight. Men, women, and children will laud your deeds, for if I am to accomplish what I must do to unite this island, I will need your help, do you understand me when I tell you this?"

"You mean to re-unify our states?"

He hit his fist into his palm, his brow creased with concentration suddenly.

"More then that, young one, I mean to create a centralized seat of power for the entire island. I want any and all foreign born and invader spawn driven from this place, or driven onto stakes. I will not stand for more death, disease, or starvation. It sickens me when I look to see my people, and those far off suffering at the hands of strangers who give no pity or care to what they do!"

The plan sounded almost impossible, but in those shining moments, I believed the King could have climbed the very steps to God's throne, and stabbed him thrice, just to prove that he could hurt an immortal one.

"But...where would this seat of power lay? What if there are those who oppose you? You do realize my liege, that almost a quarter of the North has fallen to Saxons alone, our shores are encroached on all sides by Picts and Jutes..."

"Enough young one! Enough. I realize this task seems impossible. Almost as if I were to declare I would kill God himself."

He crossed himself and strode to the hearth, stopping and staring intently into the dancing and cracking fire.

"This task will not be easy, I realize this. This task may perhaps claim my life, or not even come to fruition in my lifetime or yours. But it will happen! I will ensure that it will happen, or God help me, my children, and their children's children shall never enter Heaven's gates until this island is united! For this task, as if to kill God himself, I must have in my counsel knights such as yourself. I need ones who are full of love for this country, for their lord, for justice, and for what is right. I must have courageous men at my side. I must have wise ones to advise for and against plans. I must assemble the greatest war council that this world has ever seen!"

He whirled around, his eyes ablaze like the roaring fire behind him.

"I intend to build this council out of those I trust. These events that have passed now, show to me, that my war council will begin tonight..."

He walked to me, and grabbed my hand, clasping it in his warm, huge, scarred hands.

"I intend to draft you as the first of my war council. Will you accept?"

Even now, I will never forget the look in his eyes, the absolute trust he placed in me, and the unwaivering faith that he showed to me in those long minutes. It was all I could do to not burst into tears again. I feel to one knee, grabbing the hems of his great purple cloak, and pressed it to my lips, muttering perhaps the only Pagan prayers I knew, giving thanks for what had befallen me. I spoke while still kneeled in front of him.

"My lord, as undeserving as I am for this momentous honour, I will not reject this offer. I will become the first in your war-council, and I will help you unite this shattered island, and direct power to a central throne. I will help you win back this country, I will be your servant, and none other!"

If only he had never given me cause to get close to him.

If only he had never trusted me.

If only I had never ridden to battle as I did.

If only.


	5. Chapter 5

And so, as the first member of the war council, I was taken into my lord's graces, given his favors, his privileges, his trust, and most importantly of all, a title bequeathed to me, from him. I was now not only a knight of his court, but was Chief of his Majesty's personal war band, answerable only to the King himself. I had only ever seen combat once, and this caused great dissent and disillusion among the higher ranked knights who felt themselves deserving of my title. I tried to pay the mumblings and threats no mind, I was feeling as if God had come down to give me a long, warm embrace that filled me with warmth and happiness. I could not keep up the happy facade for long, however.

It occurred while I was riding to the neighboring forest that was not more than a stones throw from the Caer. It was well known that I was fond of nature, and though I hailed from the south, with its somewhat crowded and bare hills that dominated the landscape, I was more drawn to the north, with its lakes, forests, and moors, and its open spaces. I often traveled to the small forest, and spent my time looking at the patterns the falling leaves formed, or studying the small, odd druid rings left behind from aeons ago, stained with rain, grass, and blood. I had been heading there to explore and hunt for new rings to conjecture and sketch a few drawings for the King. He was quite taken with my abilities to draw even rudimentary things such as fruit, or tables. He liked perhaps best my drawings of the blood stained alters of ages past, and remarked upon how history would value things like what I drew, to remember our history, and how we had risen above those blood baths to something greater, and holier. I had just crossed from the hilly grasses surrounding the forests into the shadow dappled undergrowth when a screaming arrow pierced my right arm. To say that it was still sensitive and healing would be grossly under-stating the damage. The doctor had declared me lucky to still have feeling and usage in my arm at all. So, to see an arrow lodged into my right forearm, and now sticking out the other side was quite upsetting.

I was quick to withdraw my sword from its scabbard, cursing my carelessness at not wearing at least minimal armour covering, such as mail, or even a helm. I was surrounded quite quickly by several members of the court. They all appeared in the sunlight, revealing their identities, which meant that they were planning on never letting me escape the forest with my life. I cannot claim that I was unable to feel fear, or that I had been impervious to it before this event, but when I tell you that I was more afraid at that moment then I had ever been before, I mean it, with every fibre of my being. None of them looked remorseful, or even a bit sorry for what they were about to do to me. I cannot be sure what process my mind went through, but I was hurtling headlong to a break in the circle faster than my mind could conceive of thinking it. I would have made it, if only they had not decided to turn the arrows on my horse. They shot her thrice in the leg, and downed her for what I feared was the last time I would see her alive. I bolted into the forest, though knowing full well that it was useless to try and out pace a horse, especially at the hands of a skilled rider.

Nevertheless, I threw myself into that dark wood, blindly praying and hoping for a respite or rescue from this plight. I heard flying hooves behind me, wild cries, and swords and arrows singing through the air all around me. My mind finally caught up to my body, and saw that my feet were leading me to the most familiar place in this forest, the dead center in which two rings of red tinged rocks lay sprawled in ancient subservience to bloodthirsty gods. I am not sure what was telling me to run there, but I flew as fast as a wild wolf, pouring my soul into each footstep, swallowing massive amounts of air as if it were the sweet nectar of heaven. As far as I had been running, I had not seen anyone beside me or in front of me, but to my left flashed rapid movement, flitting in and out of the very edge of my sight. That is when the first sounds of the slaughter behind me reached my ears. The noise assailed me, long, piercing wails of anguish and pain made me stop as still as stone, the blood freezing in my veins. The frantic, panicked whining of the horses floated to me next, and a sudden piercing shriek shot through me as sharp and deadly as an arrow. The sound was cut, as if the sound was ripped right from the wailers mouth.

Silence descended. It was only then that I realized I was in the center of the rings of stones. It was only then that I noticed suddenly the painted blood upon the solemn grey faces of the rocks. It was fresh, as if a paintbrush dipped thick into a bucket of blood had been used to splatter designs upon the naked rock. It was then that I felt its presence. The fear I had was incalculable, every inch of my body hummed, and my mind screamed and willed me to run, as fast as I had come, but my body refused, leaving me planted as though I were a tree. My sword hand trembled, the piece of steel feeling twenty times too heavy, and I dropped it into the boggy ground, watching it sink almost halfway into the moss. I saw it then, standing just behind the edge of the rings. It stood directly in a patch of pure sunlight, but its features were not lighted or distinguished. I thank god every day they had not been, for I fear I may have gone mad if I had even glimpsed its features.

_You are safe now._

I started, wildly turning and looking around me to see what had spoken to me. I turned back to the figure, still shrouded in darkness. Had it...?

_The trespassers blood has been spilled. The sacrifice has been renewed. _

I heard rustling from beyond the edge of the small clearing, and whirled to face it. My horse emerged, leg working, and strong enough to have it gallop up to me, whinnying softly and nuzzling my arm. I leaped up in shock. The arrow was gone. I wildly looked up, only to see the beam of sunlight un-filled. The stranger was gone.

I rode like a demon or Death himself chased me from that wood, and to this day, I never set foot back in it. I reported immediately to the King, hurriedly spilling my story, messily and incoherently, but in my own defense, that chill of death and doom had not left me, and sat deep in my bones like the cold, unforgiving Winter's chill. He only nodded solemnly and said nothing for a long while after I had spun my tale. I thought he would have me killed, thinking I had murdered his members of court. He spoke quietly.

"Do you believe in God?"

"I...not fully, my lord, I cannot reconcile some of its ideals with my own life and experience."

"Young one, to whatever God, gods, or demons you pray to, give thanks one thousand times over."

"Your Majesty...?"

"That wood has long been enchanted, and some even say...cursed. Blood was spilled there by the hundreds of persons. You saw the spirit of the wood."

I was silent, as was he for a long while. He stood up from the chair and strode to my side, contemplating my face.

"You brought it fresh blood. Therefore, all wounds, small and large alike, were healed. I will send out an order for the search for these lords. When they are not found...we will declare they fled for another shore, overcome by their faults as leaders within this court. Agreed?"

I nodded dumbly, still unable to process what had happened to me. He gave me a sound thump on the back, bringing me back from the realm of my thoughts.

"I think God has seen it fit to give me one so full of luck as yourself. First your battles with the Saxons, and now your survival of what would have killed anyone else who had wandered there. I would, however, advise against you going into that forest again. Take your wanderings to other places. Spirits never forget a face, or a deed, in the Otherworld, your name is now put down in its books. They will remember you, if ever again you see another Spirit."

He bade me go rest, and that sleep I had that night was the deepest I had ever experienced. I still shake like a leaf in a storm at the thought of that dark wood. More than once I had wished it burnt or blown down by storms of disasters. This was my first real adventure outside the Saxon battle. Some higher being had deemed it so that my life be filled with peril and danger such as no other human had ever had to endure. I sometimes could not decide if I was glad for these wild stories, or if I cursed my life and luck at always being in such horrible and terrifying situations. I stayed pent up within the castle for the rest of the winter after the incident, I differed all offers to go riding, or try the winter runs in and around the forest, staying wrapped up in a blanket by the fire. More than once, some thought me struck dumb and mute from my injury. No one ever bothered to notice that all remnants of my wound from the broadsword was gone, and my arm in full working condition. I am glad no one noticed it.

I told her this story, she was the first one to know outside of the King. I expected her to arise from bed shaking with laughter and leave me, condemning me a madman and wholly and totally bereft of intelligent thought. She only wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tighter. The chill that had crept into my soul and bones when I recalled that day melted away as if it were ice in the blazing noonday sun. I never got the chance to tell her, she melted all things bad within me. My fears, my insecurities, my sins, my bad thoughts, all of them perished in the bright, glaring light she cast upon my soul. But then I sound as if I were a poet. I wish I had told her half of what I really thought of her. I wish.

The rest of the Winter passed without incident, and though I expected reports of blood found slathered onto those stones, no such thing ever happened, and even my anxious questionings yielded no answers, nor shed any light. My thoughts had to turn outward now, as the Winter thaw would be coming soon, I had to help draw up battle plans for the King, and also to ponder on who else would join the War Council. We received reports that Saxon landings were increasing now, and as the temperature rose, and the snow melted, they became bolder, striking further into land as they went from landing to landing. We had no formidable navy in that day, though the series of watchtowers held nicely in the face of such a numerous foe. We also had to begin thinking of how to convince the warring and quarreling lords of the realm to rally under one banner, and to refit the fragmented pieces of our sorry country.

When the King had to ride to his provinces to collect tribute, both in gold and manpower, he strongly voiced that I go, and in the face of such power, I had no other choice than to concede. We set out, visiting perhaps ten, maybe fifteen caers that answered to our King. It was while we were visiting the smaller caer of the long abandoned Roman fort, Caer Melyn, that I met perhaps the most amazing single person this world had ever known. His name was Bliant. In terms of stature, he stood taller than the king himself, though only my age, and he looked as if he had been hewed out of the very stone walls he patrolled. I half believed him to be a golemn or idol of some sort that the nymphs of the woods had seen fit to carve and shape him in the glorious image of what every man would aspire to be. I shall never forget what he said to me upon our first meeting. We were in the caer's meeting hall, waiting as the lord of the caer and our King worked out issues and payment. He spied me, standing by the door and observing the sky outside.

"Well I'll be!!"

His voice was as thunderous as the Kings, and half the hall turned at his exclamation. He strode over to me in monstrous paces.

"Are you the Kings betrothed?"

I could not decide if I were to be amused, or outraged that he would place me as a lowly woman of the court.

"Nay, sir."

He smiled widely.

"Well then! How is it that one as beautiful as the summer blossoms of the trees is not betrothed at this age?"

I curtly looked up at him, my anger beginning to boil ever so slightly.

"I took an oath, good sir knight, the same as yours."

He roared laughter that I feared would fell the timbres around us.

"A knight!! A woman?!?! This is a great jest!"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Unless you wish to test my prowess with this blade, I advise you move along and cease to bother me."

He lowered himself to my face, and sneered, wide and ugly, showing me the very tips of his teeth. His bear of a beard brushed against my face, and his eye were as big as two of mine.

"Well now, a lass with a bite, I like that in a woman."

If I told you I was sorry for breaking his nose, that'd be a gross lie. And I pride myself on not lying. I struck so fast, I am not sure he felt it until he noticed the pool of blood now dripped from his face to the floor.

"There you are, sir knight."

I strode away and into the sunlight. He found me several hours later, standing at the edge of their battlements, staring at the churning seas. He silently stood beside me, and I refused to show that I noticed him. He spoke quietly, though even his quiet voice was extraordinarily loud.

"I apologize, good sir knight. It was not my place to question or antagonize you."

I waved him away, wishing to be left alone with my contemplations on the red bracelet I clasped tightly in my hand.

"You have the strongest punch I have ever seen. Where did you receive training?"

I turned to him then, finally getting a full and good look. His eyes were ringed with blue and black, and his great beast of a nose was crooked slightly, and an angry red, stuffed with cloth to abate the bleeding. I had never seen anything more ridiculous in all my life. I laughed then, the first time in a very long time, and I laughed long and hard at what I had wrought upon his face. He looked dumbly at me until he finally laughed to, his laughter roaring above the waves crashing, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. His nose, to this day, is still crooked, and when it becomes too cold, it bleeds because of the punch I delivered to him.

---i scared myself writing this.


	6. Chapter 6

We had finished collecting tributes in both gold and manpower, and through tests and several simulated battles, we determined to add for more souls to our War Council. Bliant was first, as naturally would be thought, jumping at the chance to bring an everlasting peace. To our council he brought much war experience, an excellent sense of wisdom, and a somewhat jarring honesty that, when sorely needed, he never failed to deliver us. The second, whom we found as a wandering warrior who had been driven out by the Saxons north of the Wall, was our Aglaral. Though not as broad or as tall as Bliant was, I think that perhaps he was the best axe-man I had ever met. He refused to use broadswords, claymores, bows and arrows, or anything that was not distinctly axe shaped. He had a collection of throwing axes he had procured in his travels through Asia, and the biggest axe I had ever seen. I had only ever seen himself and the King manage to lift it past their chests. Aglaral was perhaps the easiest to talk to, and my favorite confidant.

Third, was Cath. No one ever actually learned his real name, a whit about his history or what drove him to be sitting in the middle of the field we found him in. So we gave him the name of Cath as a jest at first, though it eventually stuck. He resembled a giant cat in many ways, as his name hinted, he was tall and graceful, and though not muscular or particularly skilled in any sort of combat, he was always calm, and never angry or anything but relaxed and at ease. His wandering mind hid the true genius, however, and he became our strategist, his great mind churning out battle plans and formations that no one had ever seen. He was fond of good music, and, before I was commanded to this certain death, he confided in me that he also, was one who loved his own sex. I will admit, that knowledge made me feel better on the long ride here, to know that someone else wrestles with what people call "wrong" and "against god". Fourth, and the last for quite some time until another unexpected addition was made, was Lucan. In Lucan we had our political saviour, one who was well versed in laws from every inch of the continents, who was the most skilled diplomat ever seen, and a master orator. Summed up, our war council had the brightest and most promising youths that our land had seen in centuries. All answered to me, and the growing ranks of young knights under the fours command swelled to over four hundred.

We now had a war chest to draw from for our Spring to Fall campaign, and a force of nearly five hundred young, brave, and loyal knights. This was our war band, taken in the Kings graces and treated best and given the most favour over all. This was perhaps...the second best time of my life. The first naturally being when she and I were together, and not much else in my life had really impressed upon me how beautiful life was besides those two periods, separate, but whole and together in my heart. We had to set about constructing our own Caer outside of the castle, our warband had grown so much, and so as soon as the ground became soft, we had at it like madmen. We had just finished laying out our beams and had planned out sketches provided by the infallible Cath for the basic structures when we heard the distant screeching of the Saxon hell-horn. We were, as said before, in somewhat of a valley, so the quality of the horn was distorted by the rocky outcroppings and hills it bounded from, but even we knew it was no small trifle that was landing on our doorsteps. Axes were left in the logs, paused in the hewing of benches and tables, saws dropped, beams dumped, and battle gear handily lying in the surrounding meadow. There was no time for me to properly don the masterpiece that was the fine steel wrought armour given to me by the King, but I luckily managed to procure more than a layer of mail and sufficient cover for my body, including a helmet this time.

Our tribute demanded of the lords in the surrounding areas were horses, which were badly needed, but as of yet, the hesitant lords had claimed hardship in the foaling over the winter and with-held any viable mounts. By another stroke of luck, Saxons distrusted and feared horses, so at least it would be an even fight in our eyes. This was our first battle as a warband, and I cannot ever properly describe what it was like, surrounded by almost half a thousand men, running and shouting with bloodlust and courage gleaming in their eyes. I felt as if I myself was contained in a gigantic wave, and the Saxon rabble was merely the worn down rock that we were always destined to fall upon in fury and with might at every turn in our cycles. I led the charge, my hear pounding in my ears and blood rushing faster than a hawk could ever have flown, ready to throw myself onto the spears of that diabolical enemy if that meant my King and our land would be saved. The wave that we were followed the foot path leading out of the meadow, and we came to a crest of the next hill, seeing in the distance a similar warband of Saxons, newly set upon our soil. As a collective group, we stopped, and I swear I felt the earth thunder under that many mens feet.

I turned to the collective group, the sun gleaming off countless broadswords, claymores, arrowheads, axes, and flails, helms, and armour. The air drawn in and expelled by this mass of troops is astounding and nothing will ever rival upon that feeling of deep pride and satisfaction knowing these noble men were my own brothers, and that we were family. I attempted speech, to say an encouraging word, or phrase perhaps, but the feeling that overcame me was far too powerful to muster even the whisper of speech. Bliant appeared out of the ranks, and patted my shoulder roughly, his mouth wide in a large smile.

"We understand, sir. No need for words this time."

I smiled at this broad shouldered gentle giant, and felt tears bite the edge of my eyes. I turned to the sandy shore, and knew that soon the pristine sand would be running with rivers and rivulets of blood as it had never seen before in its life. I lifted my sword silently and took the first few steps towards the sand in front of us, and broke into a full sprint, the thunder rising again to match my own wild heartbeat. I heard Bliant close behind let loose an ancient war cry of our fore-fathers, shattering the very air around me as if it were fragmented glass. I soon found myself and our war host whooping and flying over the very ground as if we were the vengeful spirits from the Otherworld coming to extol horrific vengeance from this unfeeling foe. I targeted a lone Saxon, stopped in front of his smaller horde, looking bewildered and frightened as I let loose at cry that ripped the very air out of my chest, and I ran full force into that giant man.

In usual battles of these days, when both warhosts are properly prepared, the shaking of the ground becomes a veritable earthquake, and the first meeting of each to each other is ear shattering, screeching, grinding, piercing whines of metal on metal. But in this fight, it was merely the sound of a large book being dropped onto a sturdy desk or table. It was the collective "whump" of perhaps a thousand men meeting each other, with flesh and metal flying into one another. Bliant never left my side, and out of the corner of my eye, to me he appeared to be the titan I had initially perceived him as. I saw the bright shock of Aglaral's hair somehow in front, felling enemies on all sides as if he were merely clearing saplings in the spring. With a shield this time, I was able to defend myself on one side, while my sword and I quickly became connected, my hand seeming to meld into the cold steel of the pommel and grip.

The leather ran with blood, and not surprisingly, my sword hand was becoming drenched in blood. I was leading the drive of two hundred men to split the force in half, assaulting the middle of their mob, which would then divide into two parts. The greater force of two hundred could easily handle and rout them, led by Lucan and his impressive archery skills. The attacking force led by Aglaral, Bliant and myself would then split in nearly half, diverging part to back-up the smaller force which would be held by Aglaral, and the other would go to reinforce Lucan. Bliant and myself would hold our own front, both being skilled and more than able to hold at bay the wild and disorganized rabble of Saxons. Bliant and I's true goal was to find the warband leader, and quickly take his head from him. It is a commonly known fact that a Saxon band without a leader was as useful as a chickens body without a head, merely a moving and tumbling mass of flesh that stopped only when it realized it was dead.

The drive was going beautifully, and I stopped hacking for a mere second to admire Cath's genius in devising this plan in the several minutes that we stood still on the hill above. Unfortunately, a second is all it takes to be taken by surprise in battle. Bliant and I had been making steady work of crashing and slashing to the center where we saw the skull lined battle standard, smeared in dark war paint, and where we would find the leader and his bodyguard. As I stopped to re-orient and take pride in our success, I was blasted (luckily) from my shield side, by an unseen force that was as strong as an ox. I was quickly introduced to the sandy shore, which indeed as I had predicted, ran red as rubies and the precious stuff within our veins.

"BLIANT!!!"

My voice was lost in the tumult of all the chaos and death around me, but I spied above me, catching his breath, a fierce looking man who could probably have drank an entire drought of wine using my skull for a cup. I made to get up and he quickly put me down with his hard heel of a cloth covered foot. I saw him reach for his sword, and panicked, my sword having been lost in the sand around me. With time running short, I did the only thing I could think of. I removed the helmet swiftly from my head, stunning, as I had anticipated, the attacker, giving me precious seconds to act. In his frozen state at having pinned what he had believed a gifted warrior and realizing it was a woman, I took my helm (perhaps weighing as much as a few pounds) and brought it directly down on the toes of the cloth covered foot. The pressure formerly crushing my sternum was relieved as the man howled in pain. I seized onto the first sharp thing I could grab and severed his leg at the ankle, helping to separate him from the pain of that bothersome foot.

Bliant appeared out of the bloody haze, holding something and wheezing as I stood up and straightened my tunic. I looked down and saw he held by the greased locks, the tattooed face of the former warchief. I attempted to scowl at him for having made the kill without me, but at that moment, the retreat call was sounded from near the shore, and the collective being of the Saxons fell to panic and disorder. The King, in his insurmountable wisdom, had sent what calvary reserves he had, nearly sixty or so, and routed the remaining enemy, capturing a good twenty or so, and slaughtering the rest. Bliant was the first, as he would always be, to let loose a wild shout and slam the head into the red dyed sand, picking me up in the most painful sort of hug there was on this earth. The spoils from the dead were many, and I came away from this battle receiving a ceremonial dagger, inlaid with delicate flowers of silver, gold, and sapphires in the hilt, a new mail shirt, and the first of many banners I would hang in our war chamber in our caer. We had proven ourselves for the first time to the King, and had not lost more than twenty or so men in the battle. The King thought that more than enough for a cause to celebrate, and threw a banquet in our honor.

It was in this next scene we see my new encounter with a woman.

It was to prove a milestone of my progress in the strange and twisted world I was descending into.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the first of our myriad "victory feasts" that the King threw in honour of his esteemed and now respected warband. We had rolled over the Saxon landing party as if it were child's play. We held a funeral pyre for our fallen brothers, twenty or so in all, and rested for the night. A hunting party was assembled at daybreak the following morning, but I had never, and still never, derive any pleasure from the hounding, hunting, and killing of animals. I was often teased for being so girly and squeamish in hunting animals, but having no qualms about driving a sword into an oncoming barbarians chest or throat. I in truth help greater love and sympathy for the animals of the forests, and whenever troubled, I found keeping animal company of any sort helped to alleviate worry or tension. She got me an indoor cat, imported from some land across the sea, filled with sand, giant stone buildings, and strange, horrifying deities. We named him December.

So the hunting party departed as the sun fully showed herself across the now verdant hills outside the caer. Most of the court left with the party, all of the chamberservants, maids, vassals and wives left on a massive scouring of the now teeming spring runs that dotted the hills surrounding our castle and caers. I myself was left in the hall with the chefs busy in the kitchen, the stews and roasting meats already beginning to be prepared, creating a cloud of pungent and delicious smells that soon filled the castle to near bursting. I took my leave and retreated to the ramparts, residing in my usually deserted battlement on the south side of the castle. In it I had repaired the small fire place that stood in the abandoned post, and placed several books, a decanter of wine, and my most favorite chair to keep me company when I saw fit to rest there. I chose this spot because when a proper chair was placed out by the accompanying battlements, it commanded a beautiful and stunning view of the hills that populated the fingers of land we resided in. On that particular morning I sat with the morning dew and chill, sipping hot mulled wine and re-reading (I was quite fond of) Sir Mallory's telling of Arthur. I find it comical that I had began to read the tale of Sir Tristram (my favorite besides Lancelot Dulac's tale) which told of a knight who was involved in a forbidden romance with one who was betrothed to another.

I am still not quite sure as to how the lady found me, or why perhaps she had been wandering so far from the watchful eyes of the inner sanctum. Whatever drove her to my section of the battlements, I doubt I shall ever glean. I was so absorbed in Sir Trystrams trials and travails I did not catch notice of the young maiden for quite some time. She had approached from the north, but had taken the longer way around, surely spotting me in my reading chair and hastening to my position. I felt the presence of another, but dared not to look up, coming to my favorite part of the tale describing Trystrams and Isolde's affair beginning. Gentle singing drew me out of my make-believe realm, causing me to lift my heavy, swimming head to behold what I thought was surely some trick of the light. Clad in a green nearly as shining, young and bright as the hills she was framed against, that young woman caused my heart to skip, her golden flax hair reflecting the bright beams of the fresh sun into my eyes. I knew she had journeyed here to in all likelihood speak with me, but upon opening my mouth, I found nothing to escape. My mind turned and turned like the hands of a clock searching for a viable subject with which to converse. Sadly, all I could muster in my own mind was "What say you of this past winter?" or perhaps even sadder, "Have you heard good news on the hunts of late?". Luckily, as most always, she approached me, and not I to her.

"What brings you here, good sir knight?"

Her voice was lilting in quality, and from her softness in breath and speech, it was easy to discern her as a northerner, and I placed her at or around Caer Edyn, which bordered Pictland above the wall. I held up my book and smiled gently to her, turning back to the stunning view.

"A good book and some warm wine, my lady."

"Have you no love for running the spring trails?"

I shook my head and stretched briefly, attempting to keep my eyes and mind on a more innocent view then the one that spoke to me.

"Nay, I never derived much fun or pleasure out of hounding stags or boars in the forests. Give me a pad with which to draw or a good book and a shady tree and I would take that over the hunt."

I looked over to see her staring intently at me, but as soon as I turned, she startled like a hind and blushed rapidly, turning back to the hills.

"And you lady? Not out with your husband to watch over him? With my lord leading that rabble they will surely scare the very trees out of that forest."

She laughed, as soft and light as the morning breeze coming off the near coast. She drew closer, and I felt emboldened to set aside my book and stand, closing the distance slightly between us two.

"I have no husband as of yet, I fear I may be betrothed within the year, however."

I could hear the clear disappointment and the sadness on her countenance. I drew closer still.

"Where would that fear stem from, my lady?"

"I hear spoken that Sir Griflet eyes me, and wishes his desires be made known to me soon on his intent to wed."

"Griflet is a fair, just, and good man, wherein lies the issue my lady?"

She shrugged, and wrapped her arms around herself, looking cold. I inched closer, still remaining at arms length with the lady.

"I feel..."

I turned to her, seeing her blue eyes swimming before me, her bottom lip tucked into her teeth. The sight was... dazzling, humbling, and breath-taking all at once.

"I feel strangled by the very prospect of marriage. I would not care if it was to Griflet or the King himself."

I smiled to her, and closed the gap, brushing the side of her softly clad arm with my own tunic. She gave me no heed or pause and continued staring at the pale blue sky warming before us.

"A free spirit you are, my lady?"

She grimaced and gathered herself together, shaking as if a breeze I could not feel was preying upon her, body, mind, and soul.

"Nay sir. Just...bored with courtly life."

"Is it stability and no change that you fear?"

"I fear a cage. But not the physical one, but rather, the cage that court imposes on the soul. I would rather die then give up the blessings of riding horseback to the forests when I so chose. It would be as if I asked you to give up your books and sketches."

I smiled softly and laughed, in this young maiden I saw someone who possessed an unbending spirit, and an unfailing sense of adventure.

"I do doubt I would surrender those pleasures to those who asked them of me, and I understand your vehemence at rejecting this idea. I myself had the easy way to resolve this issue, and took the Pentecostal Oath in the stead of accepting a marriage proposal. It has been...most helpful to remaining free and unbridled."

She cast a jealous eye at me, and I laughed again, though she joined in this time, my low laughter and her high musical one blending in the air to create music such as I had never heard before.

"I wish I could lead a life as you do. Do you enjoy what you do?"

"Hm? How do you mean, young one?"

She turned to face me fully, coming to a stop below my chin, gazing up at me with eyes almost as blue as _hers_ are. She reached up and gently brushed away my hair which had been stirred by the gentle wind off of my forehead. My skin felt ten times too hot, and her skin felt ten times too cold.

"Do you enjoy what you do? Riding into battles you may never return from? Plunging a naked blade into another mans flesh? Ensuring that his child and wife may starve, or that the village will die without its leader? Or what of-"

"Enough! Enough young one, enough. You think quite often I see."

She smiled at me mischievously.

"It is a shared trait, my father was a battle planner for our assaults against Pictland, and my brother took his place. They tell me that I come from a long line of daydreamers and planners."

I turned back to the wide hills, and now fully exposed sun, beginning to change the clime from chilled to a more comfortable warmth. I shed my outer tunic, leaving me in my loose chainmail I now always wore out of habit. I caught her staring hungrily at me out of the corner of my eye and laid the tunic on the neighboring chair.

"A dreamer eh? Sounds like a profession I would love to hold."

"So you do not like what it is you do?"

I made a clucking sound, chasing the idea around in my head. I had never been anything BUT the soldier and knight I was raised to become. I was bathed in violence, blood, obedience, and boxed in thinking, so in reality, I could never have succeeded in anything but what I had been trained to do. Her questions raised interesting thoughts however un-wanted or unprecedented they were.

"It is not that young one, just a gap I suppose. I have yet to discover what the source of this gap is, or what absence creates it, but I think I may yet find the balm to soothe this pain I experience."

We stood in silence for a long time, both observing the calm, quite, and serenity that the hills offered so often to my own troubled mind.

"What is it you would do, instead of being a knight...sir?"

I turned, startled at this new line of questioning. Women never stopped amazing or confounding my mind. They asked such odd questions, and followed such strange, disquieting, and befuddling lines of logic to the most infuriating or illogical conclusion. And all the while, they never stop once to question their own logics, or their own ideals. I believe it was this sort of clear headed rationale, the brutal, stark, honest and open speaking, and the uninhibited wanderings that drew me to love my own gender. In men, I never found a peer of womens intellect or mental willpower, besides that of Cath, who is rather feminine at times. I noticed at this time now that she had drawn closer and had pressed our arms length to length against each other, applying steady, safe pressure.

"I cannot safely say that, maiden. I know of no other life than what I have been raised in."

She turned her light blue eyes to me, searching continually in my face for an answer I dare say I never had.

"What kind of life have you been raised in?"

"One that is...bathed in blood. I learned obedience, courage, and valour were what defined a person. Actions speak louder than the thoughts to action. I am not in the Kings service to think, or to feel... I am included in his graces and favours as a being of action."

She nodded slowly and stepped away slightly, cocking her head slightly to the side and staring at me fully and looking to be in deep thought.

"It must be lonely, being a dreamer and being forced to forsake your inherent nature."

I took a step back, almost physically struck at how concise and accurate her observation was. She merely smiled sadly.

"You can clearly see it in your face, sir knight. The gap you speak of is a chasm. To be blunt, you seem lost and misplaced in this setting."

I said nothing, choosing instead a stony silence, though in reality, I knew her ideas were correct. Something that was vital to existence was missing in my life. I just knew not what it was, or how I came to have lost it. I was lost in my thoughts and meanderings along my brain-paths when I felt my head being steered to my right without my consent. Her gentle hands steered my face down to hers, and held my gaze in an intent vice.

"It is love you crave, sir knight. Love that you never experienced."

She drew me down that final space, and I found myself once more in an embrace of intimacy only usually reserved for men and women. At the time, the thought of this being odd or the chances of this happening twice to me within a year were not very prevalent. It was a chaste kiss, and she yielded nothing to me but pressing her body into mine, creating in my mind once more the image of two souls joined at the lips, and connecting down to their toes. It was so beautiful I may have cried. She withdrew, slowly, and almost hesitantly, tucking her lip into her teeth once more.

"Was that love...my lady?"

She kissed me again, harder this time, her hands grabbing and looking for purchase on the cold metal ringlets of my mail. I weaved my fingers gently into her plaited hair and drew her as close as I could imagine two human beings being. Trumpets split the air suddenly, and the force that she pushed away from me was enough to send me tumbling over the chair behind me and leave me euphorically placed on the ground. She looked fearful, and I could hear the distant drumbeats of horses and their masters whipping them onto the castle. The hunting party was returning. I brushed my lips gently and stared up at the maiden, waiting for her next move. She merely turned tail and fled, running for the nearest staircase that descended. I said nothing and sat in silence for a time, still confused, and very happy as to what had befallen me again.

"Sir knight!"

My head snapped up, and I made to get up, running towards the maiden. She placated me with her hands, however, causing me to re-sit upon the stone.

"My name is Lady Elaine. I hail from Celyddon Forest. I hope we meet again, sir."

She disappeared from sight, but not from mind.


	8. Chapter 8

The feast began around sunset, when all animal meat had been skewered, roasted, and cooked to perfection. We somehow managed to cram to the very last soul, the entirety of our warband, the vassals, the wives, and servants, all underneath the shaking timbres that roared and quaked with our laughter. I had not said a word to anyone concerning Elaine, and claimed sickness when asked why I was so pale, or why I shook as grievously as I did. I was herded into the hall, where half of the forests teeming runs lay in piles, awaiting skinning or cooking. It was well known of my intolerance for animal cruelty, so I was assigned the task of watering and caring for the horses. I barely made it stumbling out of the stone hall with my breakfast remaining in my stomach.

I was watering the Kings steed, one of the most beautiful stallions that I had ever seen, when I felt an arm clasp my shoulder. I spun around and found wriggling in my grasp, with her arm near the shattering point, Elaine. I released her quite suddenly, but remained awestruck.

"My lady! I could have had your arm out and off of your body! You never surprise a knight!"

She rubbed her wrist slightly, and I took the arm I had formerly locked onto gently, testing for breaks or bruises.

"I apologize my lady, but I must be honest, you are lucky I did not have my knife."

She placed her hand on my testing ones, halting my inspection of her arm. I glanced up and saw her eyes slightly damp.

"What is it, my lady?"

She tucked her lip into her teeth and diverted her gaze to the ground, her hand intertwining with mine.

"Griflet has... Griflet has made his proposal to me. I know my brother will readily accept and hand me off to him."

My heart sank, partly for pure sorrow, and the other part for jealousy, suddenly wanting this exquisite young maiden all to myself. I gently pulled her into my embrace, tucking her head under my neck and wrapped my arms around her.

"I am sorry...Elaine."

I heard a sniff at the sound of her name, and kissed her head softly.

"I want to leave."

I kissed her head again and rocked her gently back and forth.

"I want to leave with you."

All motion stopped, and I thrust her out at arms length.

"You wish...what, my lady?"

I thought my ears had deceived me.

"I wish to leave here, and I wish you to come with me."

Gazing into the pale blue eyes, I knew she told the truth, and her heart desired this feat more than anything else. I shook my head sadly.

"I cannot, my lady. I am the head of the Kings warband, I have a caer and hall to construct, and battle plans for the summer offensive to the north of the inlet."

She shook her head furiously at me, and stepped further back.

"You said it yourself, good sir knight. You lack for something. I can give you that something."

I sighed, and suddenly became overcome with sorrow. I realize now, that I came to the first and abrupt revelation concerning my life. I could never just "be" with someone. I could never forsake my King, my land, or my promise to unite Briton. She used to become upset when I put my duty to the King, HER king, as well as mine, before us, postponing secret rendezvous for war meetings with the Lord. I developed the loyalty over love aspect of my sad life early on. I curse myself for it quite often now.

"You have given me the closest thing to love that I have ever experienced, Elaine. But even that is not enough to convince me. I swore an oath to my King, and to my country. I cannot forsake either, my mind will not allow it."

She suddenly screamed, loud enough, I feared, to rouse attention, though no one claimed to have heard anything later on. She screamed and threw herself at me, full force. I let her fall upon me, one badly placed fist slamming into my nose, and drawing warm, wet blood from it. She raged into me, striking my chest, arms, and legs, until she realized what she done to me. She gazed up into my face, and I returned the gaze levelly. I was trained to disregard pain, and though nose breaks are most common among injuries, they still hurt incredibly bad. I learned, however, to tune out and ignore all pain, in order to accomplish an attack, defense, or flight from enemies. Then, as ever, I did not flinch or move from my rigid position. She slumped onto my warm and shining chest now, sobbing and convulsing into me. I spit out a stream of blood beside her feet and moved back from her.

"Elaine, this cannot be. You may run from this, I will not stop you, nor will I give you away. But I cannot, and will not, ever, ever forsake what I have promised to deliver. I fear I may love you, or love you as much as I know or understand how to. But this is not enough to drive me to disregard my loyalty."

Her fiery and blazing eyes suddenly cooled, as if a huge blaze had been smothered in the throes of its glorious carnage.

"I fear you will never know happiness then, sir knight. You will never know or understand love, as long as you resist what your heart sings for you to do."

She strode away, and that was the last I ever saw of Elaine. She was correct in some ways, of course. I did know love, and in the end I did follow what my heart sang into my body. I just never held onto the happiness that I had almost had. I received letters from Elaine, and the last one I took before being deployed was from several months ago. It is as follows;

_Alack sir knight!_

_I hear all told that things have not gone well. I snatched from mouths and the wind itself, gossip of you and the queen. I am saddened by this, you may very well be dead before receiving this, but I care not, writing to you is a nice waste of time, and helps me to reflect on the last piece of my life lived. I hope she was worth it, but then again, I know she is. She had to be to break your oath to your king and country. I feel jealous that I could not shake you from your stupor, and it took someone forbidden, and infinitely more dangerous to wake you from that merciless sleep that drained you of your life. I hope that when you do die, or are already rotting in pieces in the ocean, that you never regret what you have done, with me, or with any other woman, including the queen. I have yet to find an appropriate lady myself, and have spent much of my time in the newly freed Pictland region beyond the Wall. They have a battle standard planted in the newly founded Westhill. It bears your name, and how you led your forces to liberating the land from the Picts. We still sing your glory and vaunt your deeds here in Pictland, and know that even if all hate you on the other side of the wall, here, in the wilds of the outlying wastes of this land, we love you as dearly as if you yourself were our king. I hope this finds you well, and I hope you live your life as true to yourself and your values as you did when I knew you. _

_I love you, good sir knight. Good luck, and god be with you. – Lady Elaine of Westhill._

Alas, if only I had loved Elaine in her stead! But I digress. Elaine stole one of the good young colts we had from the foaling, and disappeared into the growing afternoon sun. I spoke nothing of what I had seen, and continued on my chores, cleaning and servicing all the horses whilst my nose purged and flowed like a gushing river head. By the time all was done, the sun was now descending downwards, and the blood had crusted onto my face, my tunic, and led a crimson trail wherever my chores led me. I staggered back into the hall, ignoring all inquiries and slept for a long, long time. I was awoken by the shouting and merry-making of my comrades, and roused myself sufficiently to change my tunic and rid myself of the bloody visage. I shuffled into the painfully bright hall just in time to catch the toast that the now very...intoxicated King was giving to our warband. Though he was godlike, and perhaps the wisest man I ever knew, he still was just a young man, much as the rest of us, and could never say no to additional tankards of ale.

"And in the darkest time, we see tomorrows heroes rising about the ashes of our former glory, almost as if the worlds destruction has given them cause to finally awaken from a slumber that would enable them to mend our broken world."

His eyes fell upon me, sheepishly rubbing the sleep out of my eyes in the corner, and the roar of joy he let loose nearly knocked me over. He swooped in on me from his throne at the head of the table, and dragged me in front of the entire court. He lifted his blazing golden goblet, sloshing over copious amounts of ale, and hit my back so hard I nearly tripped over myself and into the table. The hall fell silent, and I felt collectively, perhaps a thousand pairs of eyes on my form. I have never, and will never be comfortable with being the center of attention of chatter, this servant is far too humble to be well liked.

"This knight, this young, brave, astounding, young knight, rallied our forces not once, but TWICE in the face of overwhelming odds, and brought victory from the clutches of the Saxon horde!"

He beamed at me as I had always imagined a proud father would beam at the success of his child. I fear I would start crying if given much more attention.

"Say something, sir knight."

He smiled gently at me and sat down, bidding the rest to also sit, all staring intently at me. I cleared my throat, suddenly very dizzy and overwhelmed.

"I uhm... Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the court..."

The hush blanketed the hall from front to back. My lack of talent concerning public speaking became painfully acute and apparent. I cleared my throat again, quite loudly. I saw Bliant spring up from the board and wave wildly to me. Undoubtedly, he was gone beyond recognition at the behest of the ale.

"WOOO YEAH!!!!"

He promptly slammed back down and rattled the very hall and stones. I laughed nervously and racked my brains for something to say.

"While the praise endured from our King is...nice... I uhm, well, it was not just me, but the collective warband. If you must know..."

I was pulling a blank, and could scarcely breathe, the room beginning to warp and bend before my eyes.

"I thank all of you for your praise, but the real hero is of course...our King!"

I clapped, and the hall soon thundered with praise and clapping, leaving me barely able to stand, and slumping down on the stool beside the King. He nodded to the gathering, and everyone returned to their own conversations, the King turning to me.

"You do not...speak well, young one."

I smiled painfully, looking for any scrap of food on the board that had escaped devouring. Promptly, a plate heaped high with meats, cheese, and a loaf of bread descended in front of me, and I dug in as if I had not eaten in many days. Bleeding profusely and speaking publicly do that to a soul.

"I have been thinking..."

I did not glance up, but waved that the King continue to speak as I inhaled a block of cheese and half the loaf in one swallow.

"Our summer offensive is to launch north of our inlet?"

I nodded, dashing wine down my throat and continuing to ravage my food.

"Where would the offensive stop?"

I finally paused from my slaughter of the food to glance at him, seeing him staring intently into his dark red wine.

"Well my liege...what Cath and Lucan came up with were that considering the borders and the fragments of the kingdoms, we could only push as far as Gaer. If we crossed the foothills beyond it, we would be encroaching Scilti's land. As of yet, Lucan and his messengers have failed to establish contact or reach any treaty between us two."

He stroked his chin slowly.

"What has he spoken of the proposed treaty?"

"I believe he cursed it, and us for daring to ask him to join the alliance."

He narrowed his eyes and stared intently at the stained wood in front of him.

"As my personal counselor, what do you propose we do to solve this problem? If we cannot push through Gaer and reach the Saxon launching port, I fear we may never be able to begin our campaign."

My eyes widened, he had spoken nothing to me of attempting to reclaim the abandoned sea fort of Stucia. It was perhaps a hundred miles from our own Caer, and Saxons had as of late occupied it to launch numerous raids along our coasts. This was ambitious, and foolhardy.

"I...my liege?"

"Yes, speak freely, sir."

"You propose to...take Stucia...?"

"I do not propose anything. I am taking that fortress, and you are leading my warband to that end."

I only nodded silently, not feeling hungry suddenly.

"How may I help you to accomplish this venture then, my lord."

He smiled and eased back into his chair, nodding and stroking his chin again.

"Go with...Lucan, naturally, and bring along Cath and Bliant. Aglaral will remain here to help oversee further construction on your caer."

"When are we to leave, my lord?"

"As soon as you see it fit, I expect you to succeed in this venture, young one."

He said it with unflinching finality. I rose and bowed out, retiring from the party and going to wander the ramparts like a wraith. As if the skies signaled my own turbulent mind, banks of malevolent thunderclouds began jostling each other on the horizon. I sighed loudly and sat in my chair, unfazed by the chill and sting of moisture in the air. It was the first time I felt angry towards my lord. It would prove to not be the last time.

-decided to stretch this story into an epic like Jumper, so expect 32 or possibly more chapters.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This IS an SoN story, though I understand the concernicus/confusion. Take the cast (or whatever characters I decide to use) and plop them back in medieval england. Knight= Ashley. Queen = Spencer, and hopefully you can figure out the other characters. I plan on using Aiden, and perhaps Glen and Paula, maybe even Arthur, we will see. I will be finding equivalent ye olde names when the time calls for it. Sorry for any confusion. Thanks to my reviewers. On with the show;

We prepared for departure as soon as the last drop of ale had been drunk, and the last of the teeming game had been slaughtered and cured. It was Lucan, Bliant, Cath, and I. We required no bodyguard considering our skills combined was enough to topple an empire if so needed. It was on a brightly chilled day that we set out, a while after the sun had poked its head over the tops of the distant mountains. It was fine going, the four of us together, taking our time with our plodding horses, stopping often to allow them and ourselves to graze. The mission was thought to have been a waste of time, it being well known that Scilti, ruling over large patchwork portions, ranging from the mouth of the Seven River, to his spindly arms of influence reaching north, almost as far as Stucia itself, held our Lord in contempt. He held no love for the Saxons, and certainly held less for the King and in all likelihood us, as his emissaries. It was no longer than a few days journey, and we arrived by noon of the fourth day on the trail.

While we lay near the sea, benefiting from its proximity with its winds, rains, and beautiful musics, Gaer was more inland than I cared to be personally. Cath was the other to share this sentiment, feeling slightly constricted with no pockmarked caves and clifffaces to traverse and explore, but only low lying farmlad, fairly parched by the early onset of spring. We were received icily at best, and kept waiting in the hall for the rest of the afternoon until the sun began its long climb down. Cath, Lucan, and I were reserved, and had expected this problem, but Bliant, never being one for politics stormed and raged in front of us.

"Blasted man! Who does he believe himself to be?? Keeping emissaries waiting? Who does this at all? Has our very way of life and love to guests died along with our old religions??"

I patted the air with my hands, not wanting Bliant to perhaps upset anyone listening in.

"Bliant, I understand your anger, but here is not the place to curse, we are guests in his hall, and as such, we will treat him with the respect he withholds from us."

He glared at me and sat down heavily on a chair, causing it to squeak in anguish, growling to himself and tapping his feet up and down. We waited until deep night had set before we were ushered into the Scilti's private quarters. We found him reclining in a chair, speaking in hushed tones to a sallow skinned man, greasy haired and unkempt. He motioned that we had arrived and quickly bowed out, Scilti turning to see us. We all bowed to him, though I had to glare at Bliant to have him comply. We arose and he motioned for us to once again sit in uncomfortable chairs quite a ways from him, as if he expected us to leap up and attack him.

"Well...I believed I had dealt with your lords ill-founded plans by refusing word, but I see he is as persistent as he is-"

"My great lord Scilti...", I interrupted, not in the mood to hear vain and pompous insults hurled at my liege. "We come to seek counsel with you, and to perhaps sway you to our cause, as well as the cause for our Briton."

He glared at me, stroking his mustache.

"What, pray tell, is a woman doing here?"

Bliants temper flared and I had to restrain him with a cool hand on his shoulder.

"I am the head of my liege's warband, and was personally assigned to this task, I am a knight, the same as my fellows with me."

He laughed out loud, high-pitched and shrill, slapping his corpulent legs with his hands.

"In MY court, oh 'sir' knight, women are forbidden to sit in on councils of warfare and campaigning."

I was not quick enough to stop Bliant, I myself being taken back by this 'lords' lack of hospitality.

"Well I will have you know, oh 'great lord' Scilti that she is the finest knight I have ever seen, and I will be damned if I sit by and watch you attempt to discredit one of the bravest, most courageous-"

Lucan stepped up now, much to my delight. He gently bade Bliant stand down, though his nostrils were flaring and his face a deep red.

"What can we do to help facilitate successful talks, my most great and humble lord?"

Scilti pointed rudely to me.

"I want her removed from this chamber, and not be spoken of in my presence. The very idea of a woman knight makes me want to declare war upon that great blubbering idiot of a man who claims your loyalty."

I said nothing, but arose quickly, and bowed out, leaving Bliant slackjawed, Cath visibly shaken and upset, and Lucan as cool and reserved as ever, smiling gently at me and nodding to me, turning back to the king. I heard "Now that she has been removed, my lord, let us tell you the nature of our..." and I was shut out, left alone in the great hall. The doors shut and locked with a trembling finality, and I was left without room or food for the night. I sighed aloud and made for the courtyard to take my horse on a runabout of the area. I was un-tethering my horse when I saw movement in the shadows of the abandoned stables. I leaped away from my mount and drew my sword. The sallow skinned man emerged, accompanied by a pale, dark-haired, and absolutely stunning woman. The man was sneering, though the raven haired beauty said nothing. The intuition I had been trained to obey and heed set off warning cries and horns inside of my head. I stepped back, and kept my sword clenched, but loosely, in a style not that different of the Roman Legions of yore. The man chuckled.

"Fear not, good sir knight, we were anticipating your arrival is all."

I said nothing, the feeling increasing in warning. The air felt distinctively cooler around me then it had been when I stepped into the lazy warmth of the night.

"We come to do you no harm... I am Scilti's seer, Feirefiz."

The lady said nothing still, and I knew this sense of...foreboding was not Feirfiz's doing, but hers. I did not put up my sword, and warily circled to my right, putting more distance between the pair and myself. The air was markedly warmer away from the woman.

"Dismissed by Scilti I see."

He sneered again, showing yellowed and cracked teeth, and stepped closer.

"I warned him of you."

I narrowed my eyes.

"I had a vision, a vision of a knight, who was not truly a knight. This 'knight' would bring doom and death to our lands and peoples."

If the lady was not standing by, I would have beaten that insolent seer within an inch of his life.

"He will not fall for your false counselors tricks or guises."

I had no reason to fear bodily harm from him, but the longer I stood in that courtyard, the more diffuse the cold became, and the more fear began to grow. The only feeling I could compare it to was that day past winter in the forest near our Caer. It was not the same power that had dwelt in the stones, but it was something darker, and much more malevolent. That woman had full control of it, and she wished me harm, that I knew beyond a doubt.

"Who is your female companion?"

Feirfiz started, and looked behind him as if he had forgotten she was there. He turned back to me, and smiled, comparable to that of a wolf.

"Her? Why, this is Lady-"

"What my name is, is of no concern to you."

The blood felt as if it had frozen within my very veins. Her voice swept through me, and images of blistering cold, the kind that kills a man in one afternoon spilled into my mind. This woman was as close to a demon as I had ever seen in my life. I bowed stiffly, wishing them both gone, the cold gripping me increasing in its intensity.

"Why have YOU come here this day, knight?"

Her voice chilled me wholly, and I was terrified as I had never been before.

"I am leader of the war-council, and have sought out your lords counsel for the campaign we wish to start against the Saxons."

"You will attack Stucia, no?"

I opened my mouth to speak, and was astounded. She laughed lightly at me, stepping further from the stables, passing Feirfiz, and standing directly in front of me. The feeling that swept over me was like that that I would experience when lying prostate on the ground, at the brink of death more than once.

"My lady...? You know of our plans?"

She laughed, and the sound reminded me of winter storms, howling and pushing against the rock of our Caer. She stepped up, and closed the gap between, pressing her body lengthwise to mine. I gasped out air, and when I sucked in lung-fulls to prevent me from losing touch with the ground, the air choked me, being as icy as the darkest days of winter. She ran her nails over my face, and I swear to you, I felt death. Her eyes were dark, and perhaps they had been black, though the light prevented me from fully knowing.

"Oh, good sir knight, you will play into the plan exquisitely well. You are everything I thought you would be, I am very impressed."

She dropped her questing hand to my arm, clasping it gently, numbing my entire arm as frost does.

"I...my lady?"

She smiled at me, and put both hands behind my neck, drawing my mouth near hers. I was terrified, and yet, pulled in, like the call to battle, despite knowing death to be a possibility. Much was that kiss. It was as if my lips were sealed to a piece of stone that was frozen solid, yet languid and liquid in its configuration. I believe if one were to kiss a frozen statue, that would be to kiss that enchantress. Her kiss was aggressive, jamming my mouth further and further onto hers. I was scarcely aware of anything else, my hands moving to frame her waist, her back, and her neck, forcing her further onto me. It was the strangest, most horrifying, and most beautiful thing I had ever experienced.

"My mistress..."

I only dimly heard that peon, Feirfiz say it, as if shouting it many miles away. She withdrew, slowly, and fluidly from my mouth, and I felt a tugging deep within me, as if the very core of my own self moved to follow her. Such was her power, and even one unlearned such as I understood what had just happened. She had tried to take my soul. I heard the great doors of the hall burst open, and saw Bliant loping towards me. I felt relieved, and yet bitter at him to have interrupted my tryst as he did. An insane though planted itself in my head as if to try to tell me he wished to take her from me. I wanted nothing more than to leave, and to leave immediately. He arrived, slightly winded, and thumped me on the back.

"Scilti will join us! He gives to us a band of men three hundred strong, and enough horses and food until the winter!"

I turned to Feirfiz, and saw his face turn beet red. He narrowed his eyes to slits, and glared at Bliant and me, before turning heel and storming away. Only the woman remained, staring demurely at me, and me alone. I shivered, recalling that kiss. Bliant grabbed my arm to tug me into the hall, but I resisted.

"What it is?"

"I...I wish to remain here but a few minutes further, the lady and I have...unfinished business."

Bliant looked from the enchantress to me, and sensing nothing afoot (strangely!) he left, in the same puffing loping manner he arrived. It was just me and her again, in total darkness. The chill that crept over me was painful, and exhilarating. I licked my lips, and stood near her again. The need to grasp her, and take her with me to a more private venue was unbelievably strong, and I do not know how I managed to resist it.

"You are dark...my lady. What is it you wish to take from me?"

She smiled at me, a deep, dark, mysterious smile, her eyes sparkling.

"All in good time, sir. All in good time."

She grabbed my hand, freezing it over, and pressed her frigid lips to my palm, gazing into my eyes, before turning to walk slowly away.

"My lady!"

She stopped, but did not turn to face me.

"What...what is your name?"

"I told you, it is none of your concern."

I bowed humbly, and grasped my sword, which I had not even realized I had dropped. The hilt was glazed with a thin layer of frost. I gasped and turned back to her, half expecting her to have turned into smoke and floated away.

"You may call me...Nimue."

She then melted back into the shadows, and took the hellish cold with her. I knew what her "name" hinted at. To this day, I have never been so scared, or cold in my life. We left Gaer with three hundred men pledged and more than enough supplies, which we would pick up on the way to Stucia, with our main war body. I hoped to never return to that place. I knew, though, that Nimue would be back. The chill followed me all the way back to our balmy sea-side Caer. I promptly burnt my clothes, there were still wisps of ice clinging to my sleeves when I did.


	10. Chapter 10

--happy new year all, I hope your 2009 was better than mine. Have fun, be safe, and make some good new years resolutions. See you next year.

Other messengers of our liege were sent to surrounding Caers and villages, and rallied all told, nearly four hundred other men. Added to that was three hundred pledged by Gaer, and our main war host of five hundred, bringing the grand total to a thousand and some-odd men. Even with this impressive army, with enough supplies for several seasons, and horses and armour for all, the act of taking Stucia was sheer folly. It was a fortress reinforced with more stone then several Caers put together, and none had taken it, it being abandoned in the time when the Saxons claimed it for their own. But in our kings madness, I knew he was right, only in order to stop the attacks crippling our shipping and movement of men to the North, we had to reclaim Stucia and her boatyard intact. Once there, we would use the ports to spread Northward, the Picts controlled all land north of the wall, and it was well acknowledged that that would be our next undertaking in order to unite the kingdom. The Saxons sphere of influence was not so much expansive as it was dotted and far-flung. They were nomadic by nature, so they moved to and from, and there were several strongholds of the lords that controlled them, and many warbands. The only way to solve the Saxon problem was to exterminate these strongholds, beginning with Stucia.

We were to march as soon as the troops had amassed. Something ill sat in the bottom of my gut, like rotten meat, or too much ale consumed in a single night, though if it was remnants from Nimue's visit, or the impeding raid, I was unsure. It took all told three days to have the men march in to begin our march to Gaer. I spent those days haunting the ramparts like a wraith, feeling both confused, and angry for no discernible reason. It was well past night fall of the second day when the lithe steps of Cath greeted my ears. I tried to become angry or haughty to drive him away, but one look at his huge, child-like eyes and toothy smile disarmed me. He jumped onto the blocks of stone that formed the bulwark of the wall, though to be honest, I stopped becoming alarmed at his theatricality, him being far too similar to a cat to ever incur harm from falling. He stepped to and fro lightly, observing me as I looked out onto the hills.

"What troubles you, brother?"

I smiled, Cath was fond of calling his friends 'brother'.

"Nothing, Cath, just...unease."

He smiled widely at me and hopped the gap half as long as he was to the next stone. I walked next to him as he continued dancing and leaping from stone to stone.

"Unease concerning Stucia?"

I nodded, watching him wordlessly, he moved with grace and fluidity rarely seen, even in the most agile and beguiling of women. He smiled and spun on one foot in place, leaping to the next stone and landing on his hands, walking about on them for a while.

"The plan we have to attack is quite fine, brother, we have enough men and supplies for a siege, what could trouble you of Stucia?"

I tapped my chin as I watched him somehow jump the gap using only his hands, and landing cleanly, still smiling.

"The dark lady, perhaps?"

I chuckled, news flowed fast, especially from Bliant's mouth when intoxicated on the King's ale.

"Not only that, Cath."

"What else?"

I shrugged, continuing to walk as he now stood in place on a stone using only the tips of his fingers.

"How is it that you are an advisor to the king? You seem much happier defying logic."

He smiled at me, upside down, looking as cattish as I had seen a human being look, his pupils huge and nearly black in the dark, pointy teeth, and a glint of mischief in his eye.

"I am happy defying logic _while_ in the service of our King. And you avoid questions quite easily, my brother."

I laughed out loud, and he finally flipped over and onto solid ground, making the slightest sound of air resettling into the place he had previously been in. He sat down promptly on the stone and stared up at me, gentle bemusement on his face.

"What is it, brother?"

I sat down across from him, the cool stones startling me despite it being a warm and lazy night.

"Something of the Kings plan...it bodes ill with me."

He nodded sagely, his small all-knowing smile still present.

"It is a fool-hardy plan. Many men will die. Do you fear death, my brother?"

I shook my head and smiled, my fears seeming childish despite being the senior between the two of us.

"Nay, I fear neither death nor dismemberment. Merely...failing, I suppose the word is."

He smiled widely at me and popped up suddenly, extending down with his legs and moving straight up.

"You only ever fail, brother, if you resign yourself to. You fight well, better almost than Bliant I would say."

We laughed, knowing Bliant to be secretly insecure about fighting with an equally skilled swordsman and warrior, and superior, being a woman.

"Do not worry, brother, we will be fine, and you will most certainly not fail..."

He was already traipsing away from me into the night.

"...especially not with my genius plan to get you into the impenetrable fortress."

His laughter and light sing-song floated off and away until he was out of sight, and I felt lighter somehow, just being touched by his optimism. Cath truly was a wonder child. I abandoned my restless watch and slept well that night, the dark lady not appearing in my dreams, giving me the best nights sleep I had had in some time since Gaer. I awoke at the first strike of the bell, and was up and dressed just as dawn peeked over the now blooming hills. The warhost had camped in the glen below the castle, and though it was barely morning, the huge sea of tents was swiftly falling, and the collective groan of the war machine began to move. The men were efficiently fed, and the sea of shining, clanking, shouting, singing mass began to empty out onto the main road, leading up to Gaer, and then we would turn to the hills surrounding Stucia, where we would move to war.

The road to Gaer was uneventful, passed by Cath singing, Aglaral telling us stories of his travels to Asia Minor, Rome, and many islands where, he said, "the sun was as liquid honey out of a flask, if I may die in one place, it will be in those beautifully blessed islands". When we arrived at Gaer, all the commanders of the warband were given hospitality for the night, King Scilti even apologizing publicly for being so rude, but I declined, stating I felt more at ease among my men, which was partially true, though in truth, I was terrified to see Nimue the dark lady again. We left, three hundred men heavier in the morning, and started the trek through the lowlands and hills that spanned one hundred or so miles to Stucia. Surely, they heard tidings of our impending attack, and I knew we would encounter strong resistance. It took us longer than ten days to reach the hills surrounding Stucia. The sky in the distance was black as pitch, and fear rose in my throat that they had set fire to the boatyards, which would render any victory as good as a defeat at the hands of those blasted Saxons. We came to rest at the crest of a hill, no more than five miles away from the fortress. Bliant stood next to me, impatient, his bloodthirst beginning to grow by the day.

"Bliant, send scouts to see what that cursed smoke is from, and what fortifications we are against. Then convene in my tent, we are reviewing Cath's plan."

He bowed to me and rode off, while I rode into the makeshift camp we did have set up, my tent biggest of all, if not for ego's sake then just to house our warband council. The fur flooring had just been laid out, and steaming jugs of wine set out as the five of us convened, around a roughly cut table, in our respective hide canvas chairs, me at the head of the table. We had a well worn map of the area spread before us, my Saxon knife stabbed into the table on the location of Stucia.

"Attention brothers! Attention."

The quiet chatter ceased, and the serving boy poured another round of mulled wine before leaving us in peace.

"Are we all clear on Cath's plan?"

They nodded and took silent drinks from their cups. It seemed as if I was not the only one to have misgivings as to this venture for our king.

"We will await the scouts Bliant dispatched to see if the plan may need any changing. The guards have been alerted, and we should all sleep in relative safety tonight."

There was more nodding and sipping, and for a while, we all focused in on the gleaming hilt of my dagger, contemplating the location it had pinned down. I tapped my fingers nervously on the wood, trying to pick out any difficulties that the terrain could offer us. The weather was clear, and felt it would remain neutral and warm for quite some time, the hills were alive with new grasses and plants, and the sea offered no threats to us, this being a relatively quiet time in the season for shipping and raiding. Still then, why this horrible sense of unease...? As if to aggravate my fears, the scouts stumbled into the tent, but several short. I stood up so quickly and violently my wine spilled and my chair fell over.

"Speak you two! What happened?? Boy, fetch water and a doctor now!!"

There was chaos for several moments, until the youngest, no older than me, spilled out hurriedly what had had happened.

"We, we were running and in sight of the Caer, and the sky, the sky my lord..."

He trailed off and stared into space. We turned to the older one, dazed and silent, his eyes glassed over.

"So help me, one of you will speak and tell me what happened NOW."

The youngest continued, still staring, and shaking badly.

"WE NEED THAT DOCTOR! Tell us boy, what was it??"

"They saw us, somehow, my lord, the sky was lit up as if it were as clear as day outside. There were...trees somehow flew into the sky, ground disappeared... my lord, I saw, I SAW Corbenic, he was dismembered as if someone had ripped him, like a giant, a giant had him in his hands, I SAW him fly apart my lord!"

He let loose a string of curses and collapsed, the other refusing to speak. The sinking feeling plummeted. We turned to Lucan, the most learned of us all. His brow was creased, and he looked to be deep in thought.

"Lucan? Do you know of this evil magic that rips a man piece by piece? That lifts the tree as a giant would?"

He nodded, his eyes pinned to the map.

"The Saxons have had dealings with a Briton lord. I have heard it said that some lords on the eastern shore have found and learned to use some sort of...liquid, or powder, or both, that, when heat is applied to it, it as if...as if God is hurling bolts of lightning or balls of fire to the earth."

My blood froze. I had heard of this new discovery.

"But...Lucan, you cannot be suggesting that a British lord has willingly traded this new...thing, for money...or..."

His head sharply rose.

"You know as well as I do who supplied this horror to the Saxon horde. If given enough power, the Saxons will prevent us from ever achieving our lords goal!"

Icy silence descended. I sank into my righted chair.

"We cannot hope to defeat them with magicks such as they have. They will kill more men than what we have."

It was silent for a long while. Cath spoke first.

"Lucan...how would you store these objects, if you were a Saxon, or of their intelligence."

Lucan looked confused and eyed Cath warily, then looked to me. I knew better than to ever question Cath, when he was on the trail of a thought, it was best to let him ride it out.

"Well, Cath, I would choose a dry, safe, place to store everything. If they do indeed possess both forms of this...substance, then it would be both liquid and powdered, perhaps in containers of varying size."

"And how does it work?"

Lucan sighed, and took a long drink from his cup, our wine long gone cold.

"Well, to be brief, it is...able to hold fire, like a torch, but will consume, destroy, and rip apart anything near it if touched by fire."

"So, any spark or flame could cause it to react?"

"Yes, I suppose so, but Cath, what has this to do with our dilemma?"

Cath stood, a smile triumphantly on his face, and I knew he had sprouted an idea. He looked to me eagerly, and I waved my hand for him to begin what his mind had formulated.

"If, as brother Lucan says, it is only kept in a safe, warm, place, say, a shed, in the yard for easy access, we can easily remedy the problem."

I saw where he meant to go.

"But, Cath, how would we even manage to set fire to that storage shed, IF such shed even existed?"

He smiled, as catlike as ever at me.

"Leave it to me, my brothers. I leave to infiltrate Stucia."

He made to leave, but I caught him by the arm, his eyes wide, and his smile glinting.

"Fool! I should have you put to death for even suggesting you leave and get into the castle. Did you not hear what the scouts said? You will be killed before you can touch those damnable stones! And even, by the blessing of God, or any other entities, you would blow the entirety of the Caer! What good is a half charred skeleton of a castle to us?"

He paused, thoughtfully for a time.

"If your qualms are with me traveling alone, come with me, my brother, we will not be seen. I can startle even the King when I so choose."

His lack of thought, or even logic startled me, yet appealed wildly.

"If your qualms are with destroying the castle, then we can arrange to only blow up a key point."

His eyes were wild in the firelight, and briefly, I thought Cath to be mad.

"We would never survive getting into that castle, little brother, what is it you are thinking?"

"What, my brother, have you never seen me scale a wall with my bare hands? The stones used for all castles are old and cracked, I can climb the walls to Caer Legionis in no more than several minutes!"

"What of me, then, little brother?"

"You may wait, I will subdue the guards on the top, Saxons never leave many men to guard, they are lazy and sloppish, you know this!"

I sighed and looked to the others. Bliant looked glowing in the light, his sense of adventure agitated by Cath's proposal. Lucan remained neutral, and Aglaral looked at us all as if we were mad. Lucan spoke finally.

"If...my lord wishes it, we may have a good part of this army mobilized by the time you can set fire to the stones, and make good on the breach you create."

"Are there any other ideas as to what to do?"

I glanced around, all still holding their former countenances. I sighed, and looked at Cath, who looked downright devilish in this light, his mind spinning and weaving intriguing and dangerously hatched plans. It would prove to not be the last time he carried out a crazed and mad scheme. I sighed.

"We cannot wear shields, or even plate armour, the moon is full tonight, we'll have to travel light, little brother."

He let out a triumph shout, and raced from the tent to his, and I sighed, once again facing the gathering.

"...If I do not come back, my brothers..."

I heard a distant excited shout and chatter.

"You can blame it solely on that little one."

Laughter followed me out into the warm, star-studded night. I breathed deeply and secured my scabbard, mail, and boots. Tonight was as good a night as any to die, by my marking.


	11. Chapter 11

-hope your new years was good. New year, new beginning.

Cath and I took the quietest horses we could scavenge, and rode out three of the five miles before leaving them tethered in a small thicket of tall trees and grasses. My senses were heightened to the most extreme I remember them ever being. Every rustle or movement startled me, and more than once Cath had to restrain my sword hand and a laugh at my skittishness. He said nothing, and you could see from the look in his eyes that he perversely enjoyed this idea and performing it. He loped quietly, darting in between trees as I kept up as silently as possible, moving somewhat slower. The smell of singed flesh and burnt wood stung my eyes and nose, causing tears to spring to my eyes. We were near where the substance, or even magick had unleashed its fury. I rested by a willow tree as Cath scouted ahead, and looked up to see someone's head, severed and still dripping, resting in the lofty boughs above me. I was sick in the bushes behind the tree.

"Brother!"

It was light and floating, sounding like a bird-call, and I wondered at his skills to emulate such natural sounding speech. I stepped to him, and found him crouched behind a bush, the castle now fully visible. Torches danced and played with each other on the walls and surrounding ground. I counted merely four guards, one for each corner, and that was all, I snorted at the folly, but said nothing. Cath was already turning his mind and deciding on another, probably MORE dangerous route of action.

"Ready, my brother?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"What am I to do, again?"

He laughed lightly, and stepped out of the covering, his eyes set on a pocket of darkness near a corner that was nearest us.

"Everyone else will be asleep, Saxons are lazy, and leave it to the guard to do the guarding. Each faces his own direction and looks nowhere else. I can handle the scaling and dealing with quite easily. It would help immensely to be in that pit of darkness nearest us so I can hoist you up once I am done."

Unease sat heavy in me.

"Cath...what if this does not work?"

He hugged me gently, startling me and catching me off guard, Cath was never one for contact.

"If something does happen, brother, turn tail and run, I do not wish to have my good friend's death weighing upon me in the Otherworld."

I tried to force a smile, but failed, which only made him smile.

"You worry far too much, brother, we will be fine."

He pointed into the sky, and I saw a reddish glowing star stare back at us.

"The red star, she smiles at us tonight. All will be well."

And with that, the spot next to me was vacated, and I watched him lithely reach the wall, stirring not a blade of grass or the wind, and somehow lock his feet and hands onto the stones, and begin climbing. My mouth dropped open of its own accord, I to this day have no idea how he managed to dig in his fingers and toes deep enough to climb a straight vertical wall. He paused halfway up, and motioned to me with a free hand and began scaling once more. I glided into the pocket of darkness, and felt my chest tighten and my heart expand, making breathing very hard. I did not fear death, never that, but merely failing my king. We had such plans to fulfill... I heard a sigh above me and looked up warily, but saw nothing. I heard a wet choking, and froze, inching discreetly away from the wall. I was lucky I had decided on 'inching' rather than running, otherwise a three hundred pound Saxon corpse would have broken my back. The sound of a dropping corpse is the most unpleasant thing I have ever heard. I can only equate it vaguely to stew being transferred from bucket to bucket, then slipping onto the floor, and having someone slip and fall into the mass. I was sick again. I heard nothing for a long time, and refused to look upon the corpse, fearing more retching and sickness if I did.

It felt as if time slowed, I looked at the red star to pass the time, its dim red light dancing and twinkling for me, almost as if the wind moved the so very distant stars fixed in the sky. I cannot say what I believed those stars to truly be. The most appealing theory that I had heard were popular elsewhere in the world was that the sky was really a veil behind which tortured angels were inflamed for all of time, and the cover occasionally ripped, revealing the tortured angels. Such beauty being punished so harshly, for all of eternity, the idea made me want to cry every time. She smiled when I told her that, and drew patterns of what she imagined those angels looked like on the sand on the distant beach. She told me, in her quiet, serious way, that she believed those angels looked just like me.

"Brother!!"

I was hit by a thick coil of rope in the head, and nearly fell headlong onto the corpse, causing me to heave once again, though all that was left was now air and some ichor called..."bile" by the doctors. I turned and tiredly scaled the wall, my arms and legs aching by the time I was hauled up by Cath. His eyes and hair were wild, and I saw that he had incurred a small cut on his cheek, the blood already congealed over and giving him the appearance of a grinning wildman. The joy of the hunt, and the thrill of death were like the very liquor of life to him, and though I never understood how one so gentle could be so cruel and devious, he was the most excellent partner I had in all my years of armed service to the King. He silently waved to follow me, and I glanced into the empty space that was occupied by the lone shed Cath had prophesied them having. I was dumbstruck that I was even alive while on the ramparts of the castle.

"They left the door unlocked, and plenty of kindling!!"

His expression could not hide his amusement and excitement, and I could not help but admit, the Saxons stupidity made this mission relatively painless and easy. The only issue remaining was now how to get out of the castle before the Saxon hordes of Stucia descended upon Cath and I. I was sure he had a plan, and we silently ran to and from the storage, placing them in a symettrical shape on the eastern wall in a section no greater then Cath and I laid head to toe. We had no idea on how this material worked, and had it not been for time constraints, we may have piled the entirety of the storage on the wall, and in hindsight, I am quite glad we did not! There was a wick, dark black, which wound in a bundle from the larger containers, and we rolled this behind us, leaving a good several feet behind us. Cath held the match before him, still not striking it. He glanced to me, a wide smile on his face.

"Once this has been lit, we scurry up that wall and down it on the rope I cinched to the ramparts, and we await the renting of the stones!"

His voice cracked with glee and excitement, and though it scared me to think of what was happening, I felt the same latent urgency and excitement that manifested itself on Cath's countenance. He struck the match, and lit the fuse, which hissed lowly, and I watched transfixed as it danced and skipped up the wick, eating up the inches slowly but surely. I heard noise in the distance, and the scruff of my mail was grabbed, Cath pulling me into a headlong fly up the closest stairs. The Saxon's had begun to awaken, and many who saw us only stopped in confusion, thinking us to be guards who had been caught napping. We did not pause in our flight to correct them. Shouts began to fill the air, and they realized what was happening. We were out and over the wall before they even realized that the fuse was leading to their wall. I was after Cath, and saw he had dropped the last ten or so feet, and knew that I had to shimmy, otherwise pain would await me. I was less then six feet from the ground when the world ended.

...Well...as close to ending as I could ever say I had seen it. The sky lit up, just as the messengers said, as bright as day, appearing as if it were high noon. I was shaken, like a tremor of the very planet and sky around me seized me and threw me off the rope. I landed to a crack from under me, and though I would learn later I had broken my arm, I cared nothing of it now. The sky was raining stones. The keystone I saw fly up in the brilliance that seared my eyes, and as it came down, I heard that same thickening wet 'thud' as when the Saxon hit the ground. Cath was shouting and screaming at me to get up, and the pain hit me as solid as the stones falling around me, though I knew to brood and whine over my arm would cost me much more if I staid in place. I stumbled after Cath, waiting for the line of rocks to end and to view the destruction. In the distance I heard a massive roar, and knew that Lucan had mobilized the entire army, not just a portion of it. I felt dimly glad that he had exercised such prudence. We finally rounded the corner, and stood stock-still. Where once there had been a wall, there was not only...half a wall. It literally was gone, the stones that had once composed it were gone, perhaps flying into the sky too high to fall back down. My mouth was hanging open, and I saw limbs, heads, armour, stones, and bones and gristle all inter-mixed and laying strewn about as if some giant HAD just decided to descend upon this castle in rage. The pounding in the ground grew steadier, and I drew my sword with my undamaged sword arm, preparing for the stream of Saxon's that would await our forces. The forces never met.

Well, not when I was there. One moment, I had been surrounded by death, so strong its stench, and so pervading its pain that I could scarcely breathe. The next...I was in a field, perhaps any field in Briton. The sky was shining, and the grass was a deep, lustrous green, the wildflowers already in full bloom, which meant that it was summer, and the balmy wind barely stirring their stems meant it was late summer, as the air began to deaden and the chill would inevitably find its way to us. I did not even mark the presence of Nimue until she had crept up behind me, laying her head on my back. I jumped, and reached for my sword, only to find it gone. My left hand went for the dagger stored in my belt, but I found it was gone as well, and also saw my arm was not swelling or throbbing with pain. I felt a chill on my back, and made a silent note to burn my clothing. As if hearing my thoughts, Nimue threw back her head and laughed, long and deep. It felt as if a shadow passed over the sun, though it was a cloudless day.

"Why have you... why have you come to me, dark lady? There is a battle in our world."

She smiled at me slyly.

"You are intelligent, young sir, you knew this was the Otherworld?"

I swallowed, my fears confirmed.

"It feels...it feels like it did when the spirit of the forest was present."

She laughed again, clapping her hands, thunder resounding in the distance at the same moment, making me whirl to face its direction.

"Oh sir knight, you are doing beautifully well!"

She somehow had slid to be in front of me, running her fingers lightly down my face, stopping to trace my lips. The same horrific and strong gravity pulled me towards her, though I did try to resist it. Our lips merely touched for a second before the cold began to seep into my bones, and my very soul, and I felt the tug of my soul being stripped of its moorings in my body. My mind was blacked over, like thick, dark, stormclouds when a shaft of light pierced my mind.

"Ashley!"

Nimue drew away and hissed, as if I had struck her. I said nothing, the cold suddenly not there, nor seeping into me, and my soul feeling securely attached to my body. She rubbed her lips, and I felt myself do the same, though unlike last time, there was no unease, or chill in my lips. Nimue looked as if she wished to rend me limb from limb. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she stared at me as if she wished to kill me with a thought.

"She will not save you."

I said nothing, but felt rather confused.

"Who do you-"

"HER!!!!"

She pointed into the blank sky, and the shining sun. I saw nothing, and peered at her curiously.

"The stories of the burning angels...they are true, Ashley. But even she cannot save you."

I went to speak again, but her hand silenced me.

"The one who spoke your name. She will not save you. Death will claim you, and then your soul can be mine."

She laughed, and seemed to relax, and black smoke began to billow from within her somehow, startling me and terrifying me.

"Oh, she may love you, in time, sir knight, but I will have your soul in the end. They will lose this battle."

She laughed again, and the dream split, as if it were a pane of glass being thrown onto the floor. I awoke with a gasp, on my feet, and staring at the blinding sunlight. I thought for sure I was trapped in the Otherworld, but realized it was bright daylight, and I was back at the scene of Cath's and I plan. I heard noise from inside, and went to walk, but found my legs failed me and I fell onto my broken arm, which I found now re-broken, and cried out in pain. Bliant, Cath, and Lucan were at my side in mere moments, worried smiles on their bearded faces. Cath reached me first and dropped to his knees, his eyes shimmering with tears.

"Brother!!"

He hugged me, smashing my arm and making me cry out anew, while Lucan gently extracted an apologetic looking Cath, and Bliant stared at me in obvious wonder. I looked to them, not daring to ask the question. Lucan spoke first, as always.

"We rushed the castle, and were victorious..."

I smiled, and he did too, albeit lightly.

"We found you, right where you had been standing, as dawn broke, and the battle was over, we routed the remaining Saxons on horseback. You had not moved, and your sword lay clasped in your hand, and your broken arm was frozen, hard as stone. We were afraid to move you..."

He trailed off and looked worriedly to the castle.

"Some men..."

He sighed, and tried to begin anew.

"Some men believed you had been-"

"You had an _awen_, brother!!!"

It was Bliant who burst out finally, earning a look of annoyance from Lucan.

"Yes, some of the men believed you in the _awen_ state. That of the old druids."

I gaped, remembering stories. But the rituals required to enter an awen required months of preparation, special food, and to enter into one that spanned as long as mine...human blood. I was sick on the grass, more ichor coming from my stomach. When I had finished, and was being hauled gently by Bliant back to the castle, I caught Lucan's eye. He smiled gently at me and approached me catiously.

"What did the _awen_ reveal?"

I bit my lip, nervously, and decided to leave out the...well the kissing part of the encounter.

"It was the dark lady, she appeared to me in a field, and brought that hellish cold with her... My mind blanked, and I felt my soul being tugged out of me. I heard a voice...like a beam of light, call my name, and the dark lady fled, saying that she would have my soul...that they would win."

Lucan said nothing, his dark eyes became brooding. He held his mouth to my ear and whispered to me.

"You tell none of the men what happened in your dream, the king is riding out to meet us, and we will have council with him."

I became increasingly confused.

"What did she mean, Lucan? Win...like it is some kind of game?"

He said nothing, dropping back and looking to the sky beyond us. Concern was writ deep into his face, and he looked much aged in those moments. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and though the men I saw had fear on their faces, I felt none. Somehow, that voice, and that shaft of light kept me warm and protected, through all the lonely nights to come.

--It just so happens, most of the names in SoN were popular in ye olde engyland. X)


	12. Chapter 12

-with a voltage runnin through her skin.

My arm was set and bound, as best as could be bound by the doctors in the field, and I was left to the throbbing pain and myself, everyone else busying themselves in the carnage of the post-battle. I am still to this day in awe of the damage Cath and I managed to somehow wreck on that impenetrable fortress. We wasted more than half of that wall, and I am told after the breach, the Saxons huddled into the castle in mock defense, but were rent piece by piece by our armies. We captured only the leader and his advisors alive, the rest of the Saxons dying by the blade, or perhaps fire. Congratulations were heaped upon Cath and myself, and Lucan informed me that a small portion of several chests of loot from the keep of the castle was to not go to the warchest, but to my own coffers. My astonishment at this show of wealth was soon usurped by excitement, my mind racing to the boundless possibilities of my newfound wealth. The king arrived several days after construction of the wall began. They had not destroyed the dockyards, which earned us further praise and coinage, and a week of feasting was announced. I spent the majority of the feasting and partying elsewhere, nursing my bruised body, and mulling on what Nimue hissed at me in my _awen._

To think that I had been given this second sight was beyond me. Druids and bards of old had had that sort of trance, that which lifted the veil between our world and the Otherworld, but many believed only those touched by Satan, or perhaps God would be given the honor now. To think that any celestial or free-bodied spirit wanted to bother with my existence made me laugh. Nimue's words about the angels WAS alarming however. How any could have known of my views concerning the stars, I do not know, but I found a slight chill creep into my heart when I gazed upon the jewels set in the swath of the sky, bringing sadness to something once so happy. It was on the fourth or fifth night, while I sat on the dry dock which would soon be full of builders and carpenters, that my very own liege sought me out. My thoughts had been dancing on the edge of the last part of my dream. It was that of the voice that called out my name, striking Nimue as if physical, and melting the permafrost of her spells on me.

"Sir knight!"

I bounded up before I could register much else, knowing by instinct it was my lord. I bowed deeply, met by his resounding and mirthful laughter. I smiled to him as he sat beside me. I was wary to sit beside him, so used to meeting with him in such strict and reserved situations. He patted the beam he sat upon, and I placed myself gingerly on it, a respectful distance from him. He gazed into the night, his eyes fixed on a point or a star perhaps. I still felt cold when thinking of those bright fires in the sky, and looked to the ocean instead.

"The angels burning on the other side of the sky..."

I drew my head up to see him, still contemplating the sky.

"Lucan has informed me of your _awen_. When I first saw you, I knew you would bring good fortune in many ways. Now, God is on my side as well."

He grinned, bearish like at me, and I was forced to return the smile. The king was fast becoming religious and embroiled in this new religion that was fast stamping out our old ways, and believed that the country had to be united in one common belief, otherwise, peace would never come.

"You do not believe God was with you."

My liege was receptive. I hesitated, afraid I would offend him, though he knew of my standings on religion, and this "GOD" he spoke so fondly of.

"The dark lady was correct, young one."

I said nothing, chills creeping into me further. The game, or battle perhaps that Nimue hinted at sounded monstrous, and terrifying to me.

"There will be a great battle, between Satan, and that of God. It may end our world, and rend us, piece by piece..."

He trailed off, not sounding scared, but reverent instead.

"I believe God had marked you as one of his own, and Hell wishes to win you to their side."

I frowned, not believing any of what he spoke of. He smiled, guessing my thoughts.

"There will be more _awen_ to come, young one, and the messages, and warnings, will increase in gravity. The lines are being drawn in the sand..."

He waved his hands about, motioning to the giant sky.

"The sand is the universe, and the lines...well, they are of cosmic fire, and will reform our existence."

I bit my lip, looking to the ground again.

"My lord...What of...the voice? Nimue said-"

He smiled that mysterious smile again and rose, me rising as well out of habit. He placed a warm paw on my shoulder and chuckled quietly.

"When this woman enters your life, to save you, and to help you, you will know it, young one."

He departed, and I was left mulling, staring at the ocean, wishing to return home to Caer Legionis, to be able to wander the forests, and to be able to depart for days at a time to explore the ocean, instead of being here. Yet, my soul tugged within me, not like it had for Nimue, but with a new restlessness, like when the tide sweeps in, tugging and straining the mooring ropes of a docked ship, making the ship wish it were to be carried away by the uncaring, unseeing ocean and tide. Time passed well enough, the King had arrived with masons and woodworkers, who set about reconstructing and helping to rejuvenate the castle and the docks. He had hired various dockworkers, and ship-builders, and imported most from the North, the seaways now free from the constant bother of the Saxons. Spirits were high, and the warhost, which camped in the surrounding hills, became anxious for another fight and siege, now fortified with good food, sleep, and more of the powder and liquid that had rent the castle walls like paper. I was summoned from my wanderings on the beach near the Caer to the newly deigned war-room, where our council was to take place. I did not listen to the shallow talk, or jokes, but barely managed to pull my focus onto the map spread out as matters turned heavy.

"We have crippled the Saxons shipping, and there several more strongholds, all south of the wall, which must be taken care of. Once these vestiges of power are destroyed, routing of Saxons will become quite readily accomplished."

There were nods of agreement, while I stared at the map, suddenly un-excited or feeling as to what would happen in this campaign. The _awen_ bothered me more than I could care to say, and to voice my concerns would invite laughter and chagrin from my friends. I found myself angry at that prospect, and wished to be gone from here as soon as possible. My wish was granted.

"Ash(as I was called on occasion), after we have destroyed the Saxons hold on us, I have a mission of some importance."

The king clapped his hands together, his eyes shining. I had never seen him happy unless talking of the Saxon conquests, or uniting Briton. You will see momentarily why I wish I had not earned his trust.

"Danmark, a country we have long sought friendship with, has pledged to us men, food, and forces to help with our goal. I have long been in contact with the recently anointed king, he is young, but shows promise, and interest in our ventures. He has a sister..."

I finished the thought in my head before he spoke, already knowing what part I was to play.

"You, will go to Danmark, present yourself, our progress, and fetch his sister back, to be wed."

He did not say it was to him, for he had no need to. It was obvious this marriage would spell doom to the enemies of a united Briton, and we would have even more men and supplies to command. All that stood in our way was success against the remaining Saxons, and the door to possibility, to peace, and to unity stood ajar, enough to have us stick our feet before it closed. I was not thrilled to be his errand boy, but I had little choice in the matter, once the Saxon campaign was finished, I was on the nearest boat to Danmark. I was excited for travel, but going to a sleepy little country was not what I had in mind. I was rather thinking of Middle Europa, or something westerly from there. I shrugged and took myself from the conversation, feeling restless and angry once more. I stayed out of sight for most of the time we spent in Stucia, not wishing to be found or spoken to until need for it demanded my attention. Bliant finally found me, alone on the rocky and bare shore near the docks of Stucia. I had been feeling wraith-like, though not with an ill feeling in the pit of my stomach, but rather the weariness that set deep into my bones.

"How goes it, brother?"

I grunted in reply and continued my contemplation of the waves. He plopped down beside me, taking out his beer horn and drinking deeply to it, not bothering to hand it to me, knowing my distaste for most alcohol.

"The King and I are concerned over your behaviour. What goes on in that head?"

I shrugged, though Bliant meant well, I never enjoyed speaking to him of private matters. He was not stupid, but did not care much for personal feelings, or what insecurities one could have. He lived to chop, slash, and hack apart any enemy of Briton. I respected his loyalty, and his strength, but I wished to have an ear that was not deaf of my problems. I tried my best to construct a lie that would fool him, but not so simple as to insult his intelligence.

"Nothing, brother. I am just...perturbed by the Kings decision to marry, and ally ourselves with Danmark. He did not consult us, and I am quite peevish to the idea, especially if any of the opposing lords counter our offer to Danmark."

He shrugged, drinking deeply, belching loudly, and though I was in a sullen mood, I laughed aloud. I sometimes believed Bliant to be a twelve year old in the body of a giant man, which provided no end of entertainment.

"You worry of something else, little brother."

I could not hide a small smile, and laughed again, knowing why I liked Bliant as much as I did, he knew as well as he knew to wield that ungainly broadsword he loved so much.

"We will roll over the Saxons, and holy of holies, you will have a rest, and be able to see something else outside of this island! I know I would take that opportunity like a young maiden quite taken with me."

I laughed again, though people viewed Bliant's opinions of women as vulgar, he just said outrageous comments to goad on interest. He was a fine gentleman, and I knew he was going to make an excellent husband in the near future. He finished off his horn, and cinched it back to his waist, his hands looking massive compared to that of my slight build. He stood up, and hauled me along as well by the scruff of my tunic I wore.

"We leave at first light tomorrow, the next settlement is Uxacona, then the castle Melandra, and the final stronghold resides in Santon."

I sighed. That was a tall order to fill on the Kings part. There were many days of travel, hardship, and death to be had in the coming months. I let Bliant and his chatter lead me back to the castle, and fell into as careless a sleep as I could, awaking soon before dawn, and suiting for the long road ahead of us. I had no inkling of what really lay ahead for me. I believed it would be simple enough, crush the Saxons, and fetch some blushing girl bride for the king. What awaited me was not a blushing girl bride. What awaited me was damnation. And an angel.


	13. Chapter 13

-I know I'm late, but destiny brought me back to YOU.

Under emergency storm watch, streets are flooding, and people are panicking.

The ride to Uxacona was miserable, in a word. The worst storm in years (according to elder warriors in our band) struck us, rolling in during broad daylight, and falling upon us like the Saxon horde. The rain pounded us, day after day, mile after mile, and the wind lent it an almost devilish aspect, cutting into our furs, leather, and armours like a slowly spreading poison, soaking us thoroughly each day. I was not pleased, though I did not mind the rain as much as I let on. Something else bothered me, namely, the kings betrothal. He had returned to Legionis for the duration of the campaign, having giving us our missions respectively, we were on our own until each task was completed to his liking. I was looking forward to a rest of sorts, but not with some vapid young woman who thought our king was something of an old Pagan god. The thought made me grasp my reins tighter, but I remained silent and sullen for most of the riding. The storm followed us like a homeless and hungry dog, nipping our heels, and forcing us to look and acknowledge its presence, unleashing howls of torrential rain and thunder when displeased with us in some strange way.

We arrived at Caer Uxacona with the storm still raging ahead, and behind us, promising us much more insolence and bother on natures part. Compared to the fortress of Stucia, Uxacona was a nice warm-up on our way to glory. It was a Caer, just as Legionis, surrounded by a wall, perhaps as tall as the king and a few inches more, and reinforced by wood no doubt on the other side. We had brought some of the mysterious powder and liquid in carefully guarded flasks which were watched over day and night, lest some intruder or trouble maker (Bliant) were to experiment with the substance. Cath and I were once again given the "honour" of breaching the flimsy walls, although the one request from the king was to "spare Uxacona the same fate as poor Stucia's mangled remains." We took what we thought we would need, and set off deftly on foot, weaving through the low shrubbery and gangly trees around the Caer. We could smell the smoke and ash covered a majority of the plants, stunting their growths in the beginning of their green lives. The thought spurred me on faster, and we finally reached the smooth, lime-washed walls. I knocked gently on several places, the stone wall feeling almost as brittle as the dead woods around it.

"Cath...feel this stone..."

He lithely jumped to the wall, laying his hands flat against the wall. He hummed to himself, an old hunting song if I was not mistaken, and his eyebrows were knitted in concentration. He suddenly put his head to wall, with his ear to the stone, listening with eyes closed, and a frown, before he promptly put his hand through the stone wall. I said nothing. Either Cath was indeed a mythical creature, or as I had supposed...

"It is wood brother!"

He took his hand out, little pricks and scratches dotting his hand. He sucked on each wound as I did the same (but with a leather glove on), and the wood gave with surprisingly easy resistance. I shifted my arm, now in the wall up to my elbow, and felt the wood sag and creak on all sides. I left my hand there, testing its strength as my mind pondered.

"We cannot use the powder to destroy the wall, Cath. The Caer would be raised to the ground in seconds."

He frowned as well, staring intently at the wall. It seemed as if the thought popped into our minds at the same time, and we raced back to camp.

We recruited Aglaral and Bliant to help us re-launch our assault. We reached the wall, the rain having abated for the night, temporarily. Aglaral and Bliant were on the right side, while Cath and I took the left. We were a good distance positioned from the wall, and with our shields mounted, and the wood damp and pliable, we raced forward, running full speed into the sagging wall, which at first had appeared so strong, but turned out to be a carefully constructed lie to discourage attacks. The battering ram made easy work of the wood, the shattering wood sounding like the cracking bones of several giants all at once.

"Cath, run and launch the march!!"

Cath had taken off into the forest before I could finish, and I heard shrieks and wails begin to rise in front of us. It is hard to describe what it feels like, standing there with your brothers, a horde in front of you, and an eager army coming behind you. Bliant hefted his giant broadsword, grinning ear to ear with his insatiable bloodlust, and Aglaral had his throwing axes at the ready, his giant sized ax at his back. I gripped my claymore lightly, relishing the feel of it in my hand, my right arm weighed slightly down by my newly embossed shield, carved upon with gold inlay, and jewels set in the image of a magnificent bear, the Bear of Britain, as Arthur was called. Our king admired what Arthur "did", and adopted his symbol for his own. The shields weight gave me a crooked appearance, though most of the warriors thought it funny, to see a slight girl, no more than a child leading an army, with a shield and sword that weighed more than I did. I felt, more than heard Bliant laugh, as torches began to dance in the murky darkness ahead of me, and the sky groaned out above us, promising more rain, which would have ultimately ruined our initial plan of destroying the wall.

"A good night to fight, eh, brother?"

I smiled to Bliant, knowing he had been bored almost to death with waiting for another reason to sling that behemoth of steel he loved.

"If they are like the Saxons we have seen before, it will be no more than a warm-up."

He grinned at me, teeth shining in the dark, resembling a wolf, about to descend and devour a corpse. Cath arrived again, barely out of breath, smiling wildly at me. Cath's eyes suddenly widened.

"They are stringing bows."

I frowned, that could not be, Saxons never used-

An arrow clinked off my breastplate. Another hit Aglaral in the arm. For several moments I was dumbfounded, Saxons had never had a history of using arrows during war...

"Brother, unless you wish to meet those arrows head on, I suggest we move to the side."

I quickly followed Cath's advice, waiting with him on the side of the gap, while Aglaral and Bliant had the other. We heard rough guttural barks from the other side, and I saw several men step tentatively from the gap, failing to look to their sides, but staring ahead instead. I struck faster than even a seabird could have hoped to, felling the first, and then thrusting up through the chest of the second, and severing the third ones head. I ducked back to the corner just in time to see a hail of arrows plunk into the soft ground I had previously been in. I plucked one from the ground, and was astonished to see cleanly cut, razor sharp arrows, with newly fletched feathers. This had not been the product of any Saxon fletcher. I tossed it to Aglaral who showed it to Bliant, both blanching, and dropping it to the ground. There was a traitor among the lords of Briton, and whoever they were, they were supplying the Saxons better than most armies of Britons. I heard a shriek from the other side, and the steady throb of our army from the opposite direction, hopefully the women and children had fled, I had no real stomach for killing them, or shipping them to different prisoner camps. I heard the hunting horn from our troops, and knew the formation was closing around the entire Caer, and with Cath having told them of the woody quality of the stone, I knew the crashing of wood was not far off. Several minutes later, more shrieks were loosed, and the sound of tons of wood collapsing and being rent by able bodied men ripped through the air.

I gave the signal to my three brothers, and charged into our hole, screaming wildly and flailing our weapons. We were met by a solid wall of children and women. My heart sank. I let my sword arm fall, and saw that the troops pouring in like a tide of wrathful water stopped as well. I sighed heavily. No doubt, the children and women would struggle and injure my men if they tried to sort them out and get the men rounded up and executed. As I said, I had no stomach for killing innocents, but I knew that even the small five year old looking fiercely at me would easily drive a dagger into my heart and twist it. This campaign of our Kings was turning into something out of that damnable book he lugged around with him quoting at people about brimstone, and eternal fires and tortures. I raised my arm, and felt my heart give a little bit as I let it fall, giving the signal to charge. War horns sounded at the same time, and I watched, withdrawn as the tide once again resumed its course. The clash of heavily armoured men against non-armoured civilians seized my heart and clenched it in a death-grip. I let my mind (or perhaps my soul) leave me for a time, and watched un-movingly from some other perch as my mindless body went through the motions. I stabbed there, lopped there, and threw when I had to. I am not proud of what we did, but we slaughtered all told three hundred and some-odd people that day. Only one hundred were warriors. I was sick that night, and most of the day, and gave the unhappy deed of looting and burning the dead to Bliant to head. I remained far away from that Caer.

It was while I was languishing in my guilt, nestled in a meadow bordering a small stream that I had another _awen._ I had closed my eyes, lying on my back, letting the grumbling thunder lull me into a sleep-like state. I was not in the field, as I had been before, but somewhere, in a place where the ground was soft, burning sand, and the light was lazy, but hellish in its heat, and the wetness it captured in the air around me. There were trees I had never seen in my life, stretching far into the sky, much taller than anything we had in Briton. I heard the distant crash of the waves to my back, and made my way there, feeling safest when approached by something familiar. I stood in the surf, startled by its warmth, reminding me of a giant bath of warm heated water, and waded to almost my stomach in the warm bath of water around me. I felt my limbs, so tense and about to snap begin to loosen and relax, and I had the urge to let myself float on the unseen currents, and be pulled to and fro by this gentle and beautiful blue gem set in the heart of the earth herself. I was on the verge of putting my thoughts into action when I heard a whistle. It was high, and cut into my hazed over mind sharply, making me spin about, and reach for a weapon that I knew was not there, for in the Otherworld and the realm of dreams, one never needed weapons, because there was never any hardship or death in this place. I turned to scan the shore, loathe to return to the heat that pricked at my feet, when I saw her.

It was the Queen. Though I did not know it at the time, and would not know it for several weeks while the Saxon conquest continued, it was the first time I saw her, and spoke to her. She was tall, taller than I, with blonde, blonde hair, that when it caught the light, shined into my eyes with a burning sensation not altogether painful to me. I felt my limbs become rigid and my muscles clench, out of habit, and the feeling coming from her to me. She smiled at me, and beckoned me forward. I wasted no time wallowing in the water, running onto the shore, sopping wet, and looking quite comical I am sure. She only smiled at me as I approached her. I kept my distance, always wary of a new foe, but when it came time to speak, I found I was unable to produce any form of speech. All that escaped my mouth was air and a smattering of almost words, you know "ah", "you", "wha", "I-", and I resembled a baby attempting speech for the first time. She giggled, and stood before me, not running, nor speaking, nor moving, except to cock her head to the side to observe me. Her eyes were blue, just like the water behind us. My heart clenched in that moment, as if a giant hand had passed into my chest, and breathing became difficult. These feelings were to be carried over to the real world as well, these effects she had on me.

"Hello."

My head sang with that word. My vision blurred, and I felt a falling feeling. This, I would learn, is typical of love.

"My lady."

I bowed deeply, my words hanging in the pregnant air between us. I felt her hands on my shoulders, and raised myself up slowly. She was arms length from me, her hands gently resting on my shoulders. I felt more warmth, more love, and more protection than I would have felt with all the warbands of Briton flanking me for battle. She smiled again widely, and the warmth from her hands seeped into my chest, and flooded everywhere else, as liquid, warm, and calming as the waters behind us.

"We are no strangers, Ashley."

I beamed at her, it was her who had saved me from Nimue.

"I thank you for that..."

She smiled and only shook her head.

"Not yet, Ashley, not yet. We will meet soon, but I could not stay observant for so long, I had to meet you, just once."

I said nothing, I was being drawn into her eyes again. She moved her hand and brushed hair gently out of my face, her hand lingering on my cheek, her touch feather-light, and causing my heart to seize up, and remain so, like a giant breath waiting to be exhaled. She smiled at me, so gently, so exquisitely, and so beautifully, I was in love, in that small instant. In love with a dream.

"You are as beautiful as I always thought you to be. I will love you best, Ashley."

She leaned in, and just then, the _awen _ended.

-meant to write out the entire campaign for this chapter, but ive been busy/distracted as of late, so its this half hearted attempt instead. Rain might stop for the weekend I hear.


	14. Chapter 14

--Cold sunlight.

I spoke to no one of my new _awen_, besides it being highly frowned upon, what I felt, it carried no significance militarily. By the time I managed to suppress my frustrations at the early ended dream, the clean-up of Uxacona was completed, and the troops had dug in for the night. I walked the Caer, preserved apart from its hole-ridden wall. I wondered when the mighty buttress's of Uxacona had fallen, the small Caer was regarded as important in its position, and also unassailable, because of its uniquely enforced walls, with stone that was alien to our shores. I could not help but ponder endlessly on where the beautiful and invincible walls had gone, and why they had forsaken such safety for a planking of a wall that we wasted so easily. I would ask one of the inhabitants, but they were all dead. My stomach yowled up at me, both upset at the thought of the dead innocents, and that I had been throwing up far too often as of late. I sat for a time on the commons, running my hands over the unruly and dew kissed grass, the rain witholding for a time, a break in the clouds visible, and the tired stars yawning and stretching to me. My aversion to stars had lessened, but the comfort they offered was not there any longer.

"Hello Brother!"

I started, and flew up, unaware I had fallen asleep on the commons. Cath had been observing me sleep, and he flipped and cavorted away with giggles and guffaws, shouting "the captain awakens!". I had missed breakfast, and had to scrounge up cold meat from the previous night with hard bread, cramming it greedily into my face. I mounted my horse to launch the march, which would take us to our second target, the largest stronghold of the campaign, the ancient castle of Melandra. It was built on the small hump of land that stood out of a fen, older than the castle, and maybe most of the island. I heard told of monsters who grabbed un-attentive wayfarers, and that most who traveled to it vanished. Of course, those were due to Saxons, and their delight at finding a castle with such a terrifying visage and reputation to the Britons. The trip took the better part of most seven or eight days, and we managed to out-race the bad weather, dazzled by the clear blue skies, so different from the dark and menacing thunder-heads plaguing us. Spirits were high as we closed in on Melandra. The plan was the same as always, entrusting me and Cath to the destruction of the mighty walls. The only issue we encountered was that there was only one entrance and exit from the castle, a rickety plank bridge, in all likelihood decrepit, rotting, and not able to support the thundering war host. To walk/ride through the fen invited disaster as well. We mulled this over as the men set up camp a small ways from the beginning slope of the oozing, bubbling, primordial stink that called itself water.

I was alone in my advisors tent, staring at the muddy dented ground (we decided the conquest would be so short that striking camp properly was a waste of time and energy), brooding on my _awen_ once again. She had refused her name to me, but claimed we would meet soon. I took no stock in myths, or religion, but the promise of the _awen, _once so greatly feared and worshiped held that all spoken of within one was to be true in our realm. I secretly wished that these fairy tales would hold true, and that I would meet her again, and truly feel her lips upon mine.

"Brother?"

I jumped in my canvas seat, nearly falling over, distracted by the wide-eyed and feral look that the angel had given me before my trance ended. My cheeks burned, but I arose, and saw Lucan was standing at the flap, smiling secretly, like he knew of my thoughts. I quickly blasted out of my head all things not related to the castle, and addressed him. He saluted, and waved in Cath, Bliant, and Aglaral. They sat down, and we said nothing for a time. Bliant's giant fist slammed onto the board, shattering my thoughts once again. I frowned at the fact that no one bothered to give me proper time to mourn the ending of my _awen._

"I know what to do!"

I nodded, ready to hear just about any kind of scheme that Bliant hatched.

"We assemble an invasion party, no more than a few men."

I snorted. A "few men" storming a castle?

"But, Bliant, that castle is far more fortified, and we cannot use the liquid as before, it would cause the castle to sink into the fen with all that destruction and movement."

He shook his head vigorously.

"There is a grate, no taller than a child, it allows water to flow out of the castle, because of the constant leaking within it from the ground. We can blow THAT up, and storm the castle!!!"

I opened my mouth to shoot down the plan, but closed it instead. There was no feasible way to storm the castle, and significant movement in this kind of environment could drown and smother our entire army, or even worse, destroy the castle, the object of our work. I sighed, as always, mistress Fate threw me a ridiculous plan, and left me no choice but to say "yes" to it. I smiled wearily as Bliant's war whoop shook the thin canvas.

"Who are we to take on this excursion, brother?"

Bliant's eyes glowed, and he thought briefly.

"You, of course, Cath, Aglaral, myself...we will leave Lucan here, so he can babysit our troops..."

We all supressed snickers, Lucan was not combatively inclined, which we joked and prodded at on occasion, unable to resist making fun of a war-council member who did not wage war himself. Lucan shrugged it off, but we could see a small smile break his face as he took a theatric bow.

"Hrmm...that leaves...Cabal, he is almost as fleet footed as Cath-"

Cath laughed audibly, everyone knowing no one came very close to how well Cath moved and flitted about. Bliant waved him off.

"I was also considering Dagonet, his archery is superb, Lynette is an artist with the flail, and Agravain, he has a cool head, and a keen blade."

I nodded slowly, these men were acceptable, and they were known to me by some marvelous feats on their parts. I sighed and stood up, going to seek out my armourer.

"Very well, brothers, we suit up, and set out for castle Melandra shortly."

There was the customary war shouts, and I sent my courier to round up the men Bliant had named. I felt unease once again, but I brushed it off, living with my doubt and fatalistic point of view was not something I relished, but I understood the need that feelings could not trump logic. The unease lifted when I was weighed down my plate armour, feeling secure, if not a bit encumbered by the casing. I sheathed my sword, and grasped my shield, walking to the beginning of the bridge, slightly alarmed at how the gentle breeze from the valley above us shook the bridge so badly. I tepidly put a toe on it, hearing it screech out loudly like a wounded horse. I sighed. Sneaking up on the Saxons on a bridge like this would be as if we were dancing and shouting as we went. My doubts did not shrink once I was flanked by my men, now eight strong, and I knew the Saxons would be awake by the time we were a quarter of the way there. We ran as fast and quietly as we could, though even Cath and Cabal, both very able and fleet-footed, winced at how creaky and loud the bridges protests were. I shot Bliant a dirty glance, but it was lost on his helm, pulled down, and him in his warrior trance I was sure.

The bridge ran up to a gap, several feet across, which was spanned by the drawbridge when it was lowered. We encountered no such luck, and there was a gap quite far over the bubbling and belching steam rising from that accursed ground. I shivered, finally placing my unease with the location. It reminded me of that horrid spit of land that I had abandoned with no remorse, Llyonessse. I shivered at the mere thought. We stood there for a time, no solution presenting itself. Cabal, a headstrong young man from North of the wall, studied me, and I knew I looked small and childish in my full armour.

"What are we to do now, my liege?"

I ran my hand through my hair, sighing loudly.

"What wyrd calls for, wyrd must receive." I mumbled to myself. I still did not question the universal power of wyrd, but sometimes, even I could not follow its course unnervingly. I did not even notice Cath waving us over from the other side of the moat until Cabal promptly leaped over the gap too. I slammed my face into my palm and groaned. I was not coordinated, nor very agile when it came to jumping. The fact that Bliant roughly grabbed me, slung me over his shoulder, and barely made the jump, almost tipping me face first into the slime did not help my mood either. Everyone laughed quietly as I mumbled and kicked at the stone embankment. I sent off Cabal and Cath to scout this grate that Bliant somehow knew of. Dagonet, the quietest of our group suddenly spoke in a soft whisper.

"Something here is not right, my lords."

Bliant laughed roughly, and I saw Aglaral, never a man for religion or feelings grunt, trailing to follow the two young ones, leaving our conversation. I did not say that I shared this feeling too. Dagonet turned his bright green eyes on me as if sensing my hesitation.

"You have a gift, my lord. You feel it too."

I swallowed and nodded slightly, as if afraid that I would be judged by the rest waiting by. They knew of and respected this 'gift' I somehow found myself receiving. I would not have noticed the hair rising on my arms and the back of my neck if the deathly chill had not stolen itself over me first. I gasped loudly, and slammed my back onto the wall, sliding into the marshy ground. Dagonet and Bliant rushed to my side while the other two, Lynette and Agravain looked tense, both gripping their weapons tightly. Dagonet heard it first, his head snapping up, his hands smoothly drawing and notching his bow, pointing it directly out at the bridge. Then we heard it too. The laughter floated on a stale wind, like pages of a book scraping across the ground when barely any draft catches them. I recognized it instantly, and wanted to start screaming and shouting. My jaw locked though, and my mind reeled, racing to _her_ again. Dagonet noticed.

"My lord?"

I shook my head rigidly.

"Whoever is the fastest, run and grab Cabal, Cath, and Aglaral NOW. We are leaving."

No one moved, and I had trouble turning my head far enough to catch Lynette's eyes.

"You will go fetch them NOW."

He said nothing, and bolted off, his flail clinking and rattling as he retreated. The air was sinking in degrees of coldness, and what was once a pleasant night became cold very quickly, our exhales becoming frost in the air. I stood shakily and tried to stop my entire body from being wracked by panick.

"We need to leave now, gentlemen, leap across, and start out, tell the men to be at battle ready."

Bliant peered at me curiously as Agravain wasted no time scrambling down the slope and leaping to the other side.

"Bliant, it is her, from Gaer. The dark lady."

He said nothing, but I could tell he knew of who I spoke. He nodded stonily and went on his way. Dagonet stood with me, his arms relaxed and holding his notched bow, steadily aiming it in front us from the fount of the laughter. It danced and floated around us, whispering and jilting me still further as it persisted.

"Who is she, my lord?"

I shuddered and shook, the cold frosting itself over me. I tried vainly to remember my dream, to find myself floating in that warm bath of water, and the warm depths of her arms. The frost receded slightly, and I pushed that much harder to hold the image of her in my mind.

"She called herself...Nimue. I fear for what she wants of me, and that she may follow me so far from Gaer."

We heard a shuffle in the murk behind us, and whirled to meet what I half expected to be a dragon, ridden by Nimue. It was Cabal, looking scared witless, and Aglaral trailing with a slight limp, Cath slung over his shoulder. My heart caught in my throat, and saw that Cabal had a wound on his chest, my first thought was Saxons, and that somehow they had conjured spirits and magick from the Otherworld.

"Something came from the air, brother, it threw Cath to the wall, bit Aglaral, and tried to carry me into the sky."

I said nothing. We stood, dazed and confused, looking at each other and the earth around us as if we knew nothing of it, and had never seen it before a day in our lives.

"There was...something else."

I looked warily to Aglaral, and saw the slightest tremor shake his massive frame.

"We cracked open the grate, and peered inside the courtyard to see how many Saxons there were..."

I swallowed nervously.

"Someone had...mounted their heads on stakes...and the bodies were strung up by the feet...upside down all around the citadel."

I heard nothing else, if he had continued in his elaboration. I motioned to the moat, too stunned so speak, and watched as Cabal and Aglaral cleared it, preparing myself to jump next. The moment my legs unloaded and pushed me into the air, I felt a force slam into my side, much as the time when a Saxon charged blindly into my shield arm. I heard something crack, and cursed as I plunged into the mud. Imagine the stench of dead bodies which had been on a field for more than a week, combine wet dog, and then burned flesh, and that aroma does not even COMPARE to the stinking rot that flooded my mouth and nose, seeking to creep further into my throat. I was sick more than four time before I realized I was sinking. The force was also on my shoulders, perched as a bird would have been, driving me deeper and deeper. I heard panicked shouts from the side that I took to be the bridge, and strained to move my limbs enough to gain leverage on the marsh. I felt the mud give slightly beneath me, and squirmed my right leg forward no more than a few inches. The imaginary bird on me drove down further, talons finding the meat below my shoulders. I groaned in pain and sunk further, till my chest was nearly under. I was not afraid, if wyrd deemed I die this day, then I would, bleeding and choking to death on the stank of a million dead bodies. The one regret I had, as the mud filched deeper, sucking up my chest and creeping icily up my neck, was that I would never meet her, that angel. The hours I had spent, wishing to have her lips on mine, it seemed like a waste now, and I regretted deeply that I would never know, in this world or the next, what it would be like to love an angel.

"BROTHER!!!"

I heard it bellowed from several feet in front of me, but relinquished the slight kicking I tried to use to propel myself forward. It was Bliant, and I knew he would be too late. I wanted to cry at the thought of never meeting her. Just as her face, so perfect in that place where sunshine flowed like nectar, flashed into my mind, the pressure withdrew, and I heard faint screaming in the air above me. I lost thought just as a big bear paw clasped my shoulder, sending horrific jolts of pain through the talon wounds. I awoke in my tent on my canvas bed, my arm reset and my shoulders bound in thick gauze. My entire body ached, and my ankle was slightly swollen when I tired to move it. Needless to say, I was not pleased. Lucan entered quietly.

"My lord, is all well?"

I barked a harsh laugh, but could not blame Lucan for asking.

"I am fine, how fairs Cath and the rest?"

"Cath awoke this morning, he remembers nothing. Agravain...he ran ahead into the fog, Dagonet said, and we have not found him. Everyone else is fine."

I sighed, my heart sinking.

"And the castle...?"

I dreaded the answer, perhaps missing the castle and its enchantments swallowing my army whole. Lucan's frown only deepened.

"It was as Aglaral had said. The men refused to linger, I do not blame them. There is something in that fen that is not of our world, and trust me brother, that force, it meant us harm."

I bit my lip, feeling exhausted, and anger welling inside of me.

"And the king...?"

"The swiftest messenger in our ranks have been sent, the king is expected within a week or two at latest."

"What of the castle then? I am not forcing my men into that hell-mouth."

Lucan nodded grimly.

"We destroyed it with a portion of our powders. No one benefited from its existence."

I smiled slightly, happy at that ending at the very least.

"What now, brother?"

Lucan shrugged as if the question was not the most important thing to consider now.

"Rest I suppose, and try to keep your body whole enough for the king when he arrives."

He punched me gently on my uninjured arm, retreating quietly. I felt the frustration and anger boiling inside of me, what the king asked of us, without the proper information, such as Uxacona, and with Melandra, that had been horribly irresponsible of him. I was still stewing when Cabal came to see me. I barely noticed him, he stepped so softly. I looked up to see his eyes red-rimmed, and looking as if he had had not slept in many days. I did not ask why he had come, it was obvious it had to do with the castle, and what had occurred. I waved my hand, and he sat heavily in my canvas chair, staring blankly at the ground.

"I saw...something, Ashley."

I let him go on, his body trembling.

"It was above you, when I heard you splash, I saw it. It was above you. It came down from the sky...it landed on you, I saw it see me..."

His voice cracked, and he looked absolutely petrified. I said nothing, the dark lady had let him see her familiar. This was some ploy on her part. This would not bode well.

"Cabal..."

He looked up, desperate for help.

"Do you believe in god? Or perhaps...some elder gods? Even just an idea?"

He smiled weakly and withdrew a silver necklace from under his tunic with a stained red cross. I smiled back at him, feigning interest.

"Your belief in good, in light, in love, will protect you against Nimue, and her familiars. It was no accident you saw that demon she summoned against me, nor that it would shock you so badly. Take solace in your faith, and she will never be able to touch the shield your love creates."

He smiled widely, and seemed to relax slightly, his hand clenching the cross so hard I feared it would puncture his skin. I laid a hand on his knee, squeezing it lightly.

"All will be well young one. You are well protected with your brothers. Fear no evil."

He nodded, his eyes suddenly looking a tad heavy. He shuffled out, to undoubtedly sleep off his terror. I smiled to myself, at least I did one thing right in this campaign besides get injured or enter a mythical trance. I slipped into sleep, and while I rested peacefully, she conjured a dream, different then an _awen_, and visited me. I found myself in the dark forest, seated upon my boulder by the small brook towards the center, a pad in my hand as I sketched a deer and her baby in the meadow no more than a stones throw away. I felt warm soft arms encircle my neck, pulling me backwards into a solid wall of her. I closed my eyes and angled my head up, feeling her soft lips on my forehead. Even in the dream, she felt so comforting and warm, I wished to weep at the realness of this dream. I opened my eyes to see her, staring at the deer, a soft melancholy on her features. I frowned, and rubbed her arms with my free hand. She gazed down at me again, then walked around the boulder, setting my drawings aside and resting on my lap.

"I am sorry I was not there to protect you."

She trailed her fingers along my shoulder, and down to my arm, whole in my dream, but so shattered and mangled in the real world. My skin rose up to meet her gentle touch, and her weight resting on me made me feel ten degrees more real than in the waking world.

"It is no matter, wounds heal in time."

She rested her head gently on my shoulder, as if it were still injured and she feared to hurt me. My hand brushed through her hair, though up last time, now down and hanging in sheets and as soft as down on a hind.

"You thought of me."

I nodded, her arms coming to clasp around my neck. I felt complete, like a circle newly drawn and finished, and the feeling made me want to sob aloud.

"I wished to meet you in our world. My world I mean. The thought of never seeing you, it scared me quite badly, my lady."

She nuzzled her face into my neck, the warmth in that moment encasing me like a cocoon of love and devotion. I wrapped my arms around her tightly, breathing deeply.

"I came to you when you thought of me. If you ever need me, think of me, and I will find you, and protect you as best I can."

I smiled into the curtain of her soft hair.

"No one has ever offered me protection before my lady. I cannot in good faith take your offer. That would be to take from you, and give back nothing."

She drew back slightly, resting her forehead on mine, her eyes sucking up the plain of my vision, and expanding before me.

"You will give me the greatest love this country will ever know. "

She leaned in to kiss me, her mouth so close and tempting. My dream ended to crashing thunder and screaming men.


	15. Chapter 15

--gnarly lacerations and tissue removal.

Her voice rang in my ears and her face swam in front of my eyes as I stumbled out believing I had dreamt the noises and screams. The acrid smoke that soon made me choke, the dead bodies I saw flung onto trees, the bowels and heads and body parts strewn carelessly about, this was no dream. I saw a dazed young man sitting in a spot, staring straight ahead. I dropped to my knees and slapped him.

"Speak young one, what happened here?!?!"

He tittered shrilly, his eyes growing rounder, and focusing in on the spot behind me. I felt movement in the space at my back. I narrowed my eyes at the boy. Nimue...

"We destroyed her castle. Did you think you would go unpunished...?"

His voice had started deep, but rose in pitch, and finally found itself resembling a tone that I recognized too well.

"Did you think your angel would protect your friends? Your men? You cannot win, this battle WILL be lost."

His face began to distort, first warping into a mask of rage, then...his face literally warped, and began folding in on itself. I was sick on the grass and stumbled away to the song of breaking bone and muffled screaming. The field was clear of living people, and I saw most tents had been taken down as well as horses gone. It seemed...the men had deserted me in my lone standing tent. The air was cooler all around me. I sighed, this was becoming troublesome, not to mention straining on my mental and physical health. I whirled around to the empty field, feeling useless, and very very small.

"I DID NOT CHOOSE TO BE IN THIS WAR GOD!!!!"

Nothing stirred, and my fists clenched so hard I feared they would fold much as that mans face did. I sank to my knees, suddenly sick to the point of dizzyness and had to close my eyes, leaning my head on the dew (and perhaps blood) soaked grass, the liquid feeling crystal clear on my suddenly hot skin. I felt fingers tracing softly on my back, and with only a thin undershirt on, the skin beneath it froze so quickly, I felt my skin pucker and crack. I sobbed into the wet grass.

"Take me Nimue, I give...I give to you, I cannot play this game any longer."

The fingers did not stop their trail up my back, freezing and cracking sections of my skin so large I imagined my entire back sliding off as a sheet of ice.

"I cannot take you while you are willing, knight. The fight goes out of your soul..."

She slammed her entire palm onto my shoulder, making my heaving arms crumble, and tumbling me onto the ground, all feeling lost in my back now. I pictured her face in my mind, willing myself to leave, heart and soul to the forest, or the ocean, anywhere with her, and away from Nimue. Nothing happened, and my heart wrenched inside of my chest, while Nimue began laughing, and circling me slowly like a wolf about to snap into a downed foe. She knelt down, crooking my head up to meet her eyes, the dark stones set deep in her face sparkled evilly at me, reminding me of the cold wastes of the stars, and the depths that occupied the space between each burning, singing live angel.

"I told you, good knight, that she will not save you."

The tears on my face froze to tiny painful kisses on my cheeks, and my blood felt as if it were stopping up within my very being. She knelt down to kiss me, and I knew if it connected, I would be done, and erased from existence. I strained with all my will and heart and soul to rise, to run, to turn around, but my neck seemed frozen at its very base, unable to move unless she moved me so. I would have cried, but frost was collecting around my eyes. I wished I could touch her lips one last time, and shut my eyes to the inevitable, passing out mere moments after a shriek from Nimue nearly rent my head in two and rendered me useless.

I came to in a warm bed, found my arm immobile, and my back numbed wholly to the soft down feathers. Faces came into focus all around me, Bliant and Aglaral there, Cath and Lucan, and the King, shocking me out of my haze. The grizzled, leering faces grinned grotesquely at me, and I felt sickened and enraged suddenly at the sight of those beloved faces. The Kings booming voice roared and shattered into my head.

"He awakes!!! Ah good sir, we were dearly worried for you!"

I said nothing, but grumbled and turned my head to face away from the faces. Laughter grated my ears. Where had she been? I thought of her, cried out for her, NEEDED her, and she did not appear. I felt anger surge like hot metal, spiking and driving into my body and what felt like my soul.

"I heard what had happened at the castle..."

I said nothing, that was a horrible place, and if the king had done proper scouting, the entire event could have been easily surpassed.

"The losses are only minimal, besides the five or so lost to the fen, our host, horses, and supplies are all accounted for. As soon as our great leader may walk again, you will be off to the final strong-hold."

My eyes snapped open, and I mechanically turned to the king. His eyes were shining, and his smile was bright. How could he... he...

I swallowed hard.

"My lord, you cannot be serious. What happened here was a catastrophe!"

He smiled still, and the quickening in my blood only increased.

"We won! The Saxons are nearly extinguished! We would be fool to not press-"

"We would be fool to press ON, my lord-"

"We will corner them on the easterly shore and there crush-"

"This may very well repeat itself and I will be sent to Hell if I allow my men to come to-"

"Then you will sail for Danmark and we can properly celebrate our vict-"

"I WILL NOT LEAD ANY HOST OF MEN TO YOUR SELFISH MEANS YOU PIG-HEADED, SELFISH, ABSORBED POMPOUS ASS!!."

The room fell deathly silent. I gripped the sheets so hard with my working hand my knuckles turned white. The kings face turned a pallor similar to down clouds in the sky. I felt no regret, in that time between time, as seconds fell off as years would. The anger, the tension, the resentment, this had been stirring so long in my soul, I felt physically relieved that I had finally shouted to him, to make him finally see what he was doing. His face turned stony. The others fell back as if witnessing an incoming charge of barbarians. Cath looked as if he was about to cry. Bliant looked grimly ahead. Lucan and Aglaral, stock still and emotionless, as always. The king approached me, lowering his face to mine. His breath reeked of wine, and the face I had found so god-like and benevolent, now seemed devilish, and contorted like that face, that breaking, warping face that haunted my dreams.

"Need I remind you, Ashley? You are MY knight. You will do whatever it is I tell you to do. You will march into the gates of Hell, and take Satan prisoner, if I told you to. There is no questioning my will. You swore an oath to serve ME, and to serve your COUNTRY. I have no time for your games, insecurities, or your childish fears. You will rest, and once you are able to ride a horse, you are leading my forces Santon. You will then sail for Danmark, and I will not see your form again until you have defeated the Saxons AND brought me my wife!"

He turned and stalked away, leaving us all silent. I did not feel fear, or reverence anymore, but anger, the most divine and blinding hatred I had ever felt in my life. Bliant stepped to my bed and put his hand heavily on my shoulder. He winced at me.

"Ash...pay no attention. He is stressed and upset, the blow to the mens moral over Melandra was worse than even he will acknowledge."

I only nodded blankly to him. Everyone filed away in silence, leaving Cath and I by ourselves. He still looked as if he wished to cry. I sighed loudly and waved him over, watching him shuffle timidly to my bedside.

"Do not worry, little one. I just...this is madness. But Aidan is right. I am his knight, I will do what I must."

"You hate him, Ashley. Your eyes, they were so dark."

I patted his arm gently. The anger now was simmering at her. She had left me. My heart fell, and any fire I may have been stoking inside was smothered by the rains that my self doubt brought with them.

"All will be well. The dark lady will not follow us past Melandra, Cath. We will take Santon, and..."

I trailed off. A thought propped itself into my head. I could "go" to Danmark, and flee to a different part, Europa, or Asia or...the lands where sky and sea were as one, and life and light flowed like honey. No. I sighed.

"I will go to Danmark, retrieve his blushing bride, and perhaps all will be well once I return."

Cath smiled, his eyes looking deepset and red. He gripped my hand in his soft one, tears threatening his visage.

"Do not leave, brother. You must come back, you must always come back."

I forced a smile and squeezed his hand back.

"I will always come back, Cath. It will all be alright."

I slept for many days, and many of my men came to see me, to wish me well, to pray for me, and many to ask me if indeed I courted gods and demons, and fought cosmic beings taller than the sky. It was a week or so before I could walk, and a full three weeks until I could mount a horse, and then an additional week to get fully comfortable, and once more, our war-host, though somewhat belittled, and more than a little scared marched for the final strong-hold of the Saxons. After this, the host would celebrate on the remains of the Caer, and split into divisions to hunt down the remnants and nomads of the once mighty tribe. I would head to the neutral port of Abum to sail directly to Danmark for my lord. The ride was uneventful, I trailed behind the host, taking my time and riding slowly, careful to conserve energy for the battle that lay ahead.

Santon was similarly fortified as Uxacona had been in its glory days. I expected a clean finish as it had been for Uxacona, and not Melandra. Santon was only a few miles from the coast, and though it has a now defunct shipping yard, it had fallen into disrepair, similar to the one at the bottom of the fen. It is not known when or how the Saxons took the old Caer, but what is known now is that they launched raids routinely from their unofficial stronghold to cripple trade caravans and innocents on their ways to and from major hubs. The distance was roughly the same as that from Legionis to Melandra. The trip took us a week and some-odd days. The spring had given way to early summer, the rainstorms and heat dancing with each other in turns, and I hoped to god this campaign would come and go without anymore horrors.

We arrived on a blistering day, sweating in our greaves and plates. The sapping was to be done by Cath and another individual, leaving Bliant and I to helm our forces once the walls came down. I prayed, something I never do, that this would go without incident. I saw Cath and another, Cabal I believe, with their lithe steps, run to the Caer, and vanish from sight. Tension lay like a thick blanket over us, and I waited, my one working arm flexing and tensing out of my control. I suppose I was more anxious and nervous than I had let on to anyone, or to myself. Moments dropped off slowly, and the sun only rose higher and burned hotter as the time crept past us, waiting on snorting and pawing eager horses, most of use dead in our saddles, or very near it. In the distance suddenly, we heard a myriad of shouts, and a rocking noise, followed by a hail of rocks, keystones, and debris. Bliant, a short distance away, wailed on his hunting horn, shaking my very body within the armouor, and the collected mass of our newly formed kingdom descended upon the now open and rotting carcass of yet another conquest for our glorious king.

What else is there to say? We won, as easily as I had expected. I put many many men to the sword, and many more were trampled by my steed, and I relished suddenly, the blood running from my pommel to my arm. The feeling of skin and flesh giving way to my steel, hearing men scream and plea with me, only to have me twist the sword ever so slightly to dismember their bodies, it gave me vindication for the anger and hatred I found in my soul. I felt rage I had never before thought possible, and I heard whispers later around the campfire that I had entered some sort of battle _awen_, and regardless of shouts about my lacking defensive side, I chopped through what would have even given Bliant or Aglaral trouble. I cannot recall much of what happened following the aftermath of the battle. Minimal loses of our own men, and all dead and accounted for for the Saxons. I felt no joy, no relief, or any sort of emotion I would call positive. I felt suffocated and pressed in from all sides, and the walls of the caer made me want to burn them all to the ground, and leave this life and my men far far behind.

Not much was said to me, I was given my share of the loot, and I departed from the Caer, with no one to protest, and found myself at the bluffs that a small disused road led to. The docks were in shambles, and clearly, these Saxons did not know or value the availability of ships. Rotting wood danced in the wind with the scent of the ocean salt, creating something of a rotting salty forest smell and calming me ever so slightly. I took my place at an old beam, twice the size of caer, laid out on the ground, carved into and dotted with various initials, messages, and warnings to the passerby. I sat squarely on a message etched saying; "death is merely another adventure in life", and dozed to the cry of the gulls and crashing waves. She visited me again in that _awen_.

It was just in a field, with sunlight filtering through some hazy fog that layered the hills surrounding the field. She stood at the opposite end of the field I was on. I turned to the surrounding hills and set off for the closest one, wishing to be gone from here and her, and thinking that if I were to press the boundaries of the dream, then I would break the illusion, and I could have some restful sleep for once. I felt her eyes boring into my back, but refused to turn back, I was done being a messenger for idle and uncaring gods, I wanted to complete these ridiculous tasks and then...perhaps leave the kings service, or continue there. I suddenly felt a palm lay itself on my shoulder, firmly gripping me. I growled and whirled around to face her. I slapped her hand off of me and glared at her, my feelings nearly boiling over. I turned to continue walking away, but her hands grabbed mine and tugged me backwards.

"What is it that you want, she-demon!?!?"

My voice was so gruff even I cringed. I just wanted to be away. I did not want to be anyones servant or soldier. I wanted to be happy.

"You could be happy."

She read my thoughts. I glared again and made to go, but she only tightened her grip.

"Leave me be, I am done with this. I do not want to belong to some foolish, unfeeling deity. I am through with this 'love' you profess. It is only what we are in now; a dream."

Her eyes stared directly into mine, and a similar tugging of my soul occurred, but there was no ice, or sense of forebode in this tug. It was as if you gently pushed towards some place. I felt my anger somewhat level off, but tried to look bothered. It was no light matter that she had abandoned me.

"You do not believe that, Ashley. I love you, and though I have never met you, cried with, loved with you, or kissed you, I love you."

I shook my head, my wrath falling more and more. I wanted to be gone.

"This is no question of love, I want to be happy, I do not want to depend on something that will not be there, I will NOT rely on protection that does happen. I have more than enough troubles in my world without being unwillingly dragged into some sort of ridiculously childish cosmic battle."

Her grip loosened, and I took the chance to break her hold and continue on upwards to the crest of the hill.

"Ashley..."

I sighed and turned, seeing her begin to fade before my eyes. I felt something stir in me that told me to run straight to her and apologize, but I stuffed the feeling far below.

"It was not my fault I could not rescue you. Something happened...God is..."

She bit her lip.

"The battle is getting worse, this world will not be able to survive without what God can give to you, and it is losing."

The _awen _ended, and I trudged back to the Caer, knowing the party was probably already in progress. I was correct, and many shouts rose up to meet me as I shuffled into the hall in the center of the Caer. I sat sullenly at the board and ate and drank everything that came my way, hoping to blot out the rage, hurt, and sorrow that was wrecking havok all over me with physical excess. It was while Cath sang and strummed his lyre that I saw her, staring intently at me from across the hall. I nudged Bliant, now well on his way to passing out from the amount of ale consumed.

"Brother, who is that?"

Bliant belched and roared laughter, causing others to laugh with him, his giants laughter infectious. I even smiled as well.

"Who is...who, brother?"

I pointed to her, still staring at me. Her eyes flashed in the dim light and she bit her lip. Bliant belched again and took a massive swig from his horn.

"Oh her...she is...from the Caer to the south, a uh...small one."

"Yes, but WHO is she?"

"A daughter of the leader I believe, why not go introduce yourself eh?"

He laughed, and promptly dropped out of his chair with a solid thump. I sighed, Bliant could be so useless when drunk. I decided to ignore the girl, and concentrate on Cath, spinning a long and lengthy tale of our trials and travails, looking brilliant and happy among the dozens of pairs of eyes and dancing firelight. When he had concluded his tale, there was much shouting and clapping, and the party began a general dispersal, and when I looked to see if the girl yet still stared at me, I found her gone, and breathed a sigh of relief. The army was to sleep in the caer, and the buildings not leveled by the powder that punched a hole through the solid stone. I felt restless, and wished to be elsewhere than in the ranks of the sweating, bloodied, snoring men I had loved so dearly. I sheathed my sword and donned some mail so as to not be caught off guard and set off with the full intention of getting lost.

The moon was bright with plentiful stars around it, making it a clear and warm summer night. I hummed a battle chant to myself and marched down the old dirt road that would put me somewhere westerly of the Caer. I figured to return by the morning just in time to see the party renew itself and sleep fully through the debauchery to follow. I was out of sight of the Caer when I neared a patch of woods. I was delighted and hastened forward, eager to explore the moon dappled forest and gaze upon forgotten ruins. I had just passed the first tree when an arm, clad in black leapt from the shadows and grabbed my mail around the collar. I was too surprised and tipsy to react and was carried behind a tree and shoved against the bark. I expected a dagger to rip across my throat, and was almost disappointed when the moon revealed to me the girl. I was wary of beautiful girls, and tried to squirm away, but the situation seemed almost funny to me and I stayed put instead. I inclined my head to her.

"What is it that you require, my lady?"

Her hands gripped my shoulders, and she stayed put, the moon showing me her shining eyes and the hint of a small smile.

"I heard of you, from my father. He spoke of Ash, the man who had conquered the Saxons single-handedly."

I chuckled, trying to imagine myself as this young woman must have. I must say, I look ridiculous standing six feet tall with bulging muscles and a mighty claymore.

"I am sorry to disappoint a fan, but I am no mighty warrior man, or anything of the sort. I just wish to be on my way to a quiet place."

I stepped forward and she jammed me back against the tree.

"I am glad you saved us, good knight."

I felt the slightest bit uncomfortable, and though the girl was beautiful, I did no wish to be smothered with un-wanted affection.

"I am glad that you appreciate my deeds, but they are not as mighty as those who vaunt them say. I am just a knight, with an army to back my conquests. I am no demi-god. Just a girl, like you."

I do not need to detail what happened next, nor do I wish to detail it, seeing as that is my business alone, and even a text as intimate as this one cannot stray into such matters so idly. What I will say is that her name was Gyneth, and she was a maid of the court held in the near-by Caer of Roxby. Should I have stopped her when she tugged off my mail shirt, or when she un-did her own dress? Probably. I was feeling jaded, angry, lost, and upset however, and I cannot say I regret the event so much as I know it should never have happened. It did, however, happen, and I left her panting and spent on the soft green grass in the middle of the forest that we had found, and wandered idly back to the Caer. I was summoned to the docks shortly after noon of that same day, and went on my merry way, with memories of Gyneth to haunt me, and _her_ saddened eyes constantly stabbing into my heart. I believed that Danmark held nothing more than some silly, stupid young blushing bride, and an ordinary return mission was all that wyrd required of me.

Oh, life, I am your humble servant, but that you had never sent me to see those green clad hills!!


	16. Chapter 16

--Took a backpacking trip and slammed with worth. Voila.

Danmark appeared as if a giant had carelessly thrown a quilt onto a bed, and in doing so created vast and sprawling valleys, peaks, mountains and hills. The clouds funneled down onto it from the rest of Europa, stretching like dark hands to grab and horde the green land. Greenery persisted year-round and was always wrapped in a perpetual steep of fog and thunderheads which grumbled and roared whenever they pleased. Violent thunder-storms were common, and the uncommon greenery found in that country was fed by its rain fall and torrential downpours.

The port I sailed into was itself enshrined in green, the hills rising easily out of the sea in a marriage of azure and bright green that pleased me immensely. My inner turmoil eased slightly as we tacked into port and my weak legs nearly gave in relief after several weeks at sea, and reveled at unrocking land beneath them. I was to be received by the kings couriers at the docks upon my arrival. Fog crept up to meet the ship like a gentle touch from a timid lover, blanketing the entire cove and port in a thick veiled soup. The kings men awaited me at the dock proper, dressed in plumage and trousers so bright that I felt slightly embarrassed as they loudly lauded my arrival to any who passed by. From their shouting and joyous clapping and hugging, they seemed almost relieved to be giving this bride to me and my country, and only set a further buzzing beneath my surface as to the strangeness of this betrothal. I had an armed escort and proceeded inland. The capital and castle of Danmark lay on a separate island, reached by traveling over the main island for several days, traversing a thin land bridge, and more days of over-land travel to the city which lay on the banks of a deep-set fjord.

I was sad to leave the coast and roaring waves behind, with its teeming docks and wheeling birds offering me solace to calm what rumblings inside I did have. The ride was filled with stories and songs, the people of Danmark offering such stark contrast to the people of Briton. Though mistake me not, Briton is where my heart and soul belong, the Danes were so strangely carefree and friendly whereas my people were bedraggled, sorrowful and doe-eyed victims of so much war and suffering. The land itself was a union of bright green and clear blue, no matter where I turned, one was not present without its clear companion. A pang shot through me, as I beheld valleys with no floor, and mountains whose tips went far into the fogs above us, and I missed her. The deed done after Santon pained me, and the maid with her wide eyes and warm breath made me almost ill to remember her. I felt abandoned and alone, even emptier than before she had visited me in my dreams and visions. My dreams were nonexistent, and she did not visit me, not since the fight. Anger tainted my landscape, and the withdrawal from the coast was much noticed by my group and they left me alone for the most part. On the third day of riding, one named Anders tapped me on the shoulder and smiled toothily, putting his fingers to his lips. I glared moodily at him, but as the group paused, I was delighted to hear waves crashing in the distance. Anders pointed up to the tips of the giant trees stretching above us and I gazed in wonder as the tops danced in a wind I did not even feel.

"The trees, they ah...dance, like ocean and waves, yes?"

He smiled at me and urged his mount on, the men keeping silence for the rest of the day. I spent that day in wonderment and felt connected to the trees, and the sounds and dances they produced for me. My mood lightened from then on, and the overland trip was nothing remarkable, other than the beautiful landscaping, and stunning views we were offered almost daily. Nothing of interest passed on my trip, no dreams, no _awens_, no omens or demons of ill portent. I doubtfully hoped that perhaps God had ruled me out of his plans, and decided that I could be a normal human being, and serve my somewhat selfish liege, and perform all earthly duties without supernatural occurrences. I knew it was something of a long shot, to hope that wyrd decided I could have my life back, but at the same time, I felt this pulling within me, wishing and hoping that she would come back. It was odd, waiting for an apparition like her to come, but fearing her visits as badly as I feared Nimue and her unnatural cold she dragged from the depths of hell. I craved her attention, to know how her lips felt, how her body moved with mine, sinful thoughts were all I had in my mind in those days of travel across Danmark, and thank god no one could read thoughts in my caravan. We passed overland in a week or so, sailed briefly over a lake of sorts, and turned southerly to follow a vast inland fjord, where we eventually came to the strangely ethereal palace in the capital of Roksilde.

Spires danced with the mountains they sat upon, and jutting precipices and gables dominated the view. It was in such gross excess compared to the sparseness of our own capital, sombre and dreary, yet Roksilde was bright, sharp, angular, and beautiful. I paid little attention to the crowds at the market, or those watching us with curiosity and apprehension. Anders and the company led me through the winding paths paved in earthy colored stones, the houses and steeples curling around us in the sky, causing light to filter through thousands of panes of stained glass, causing a hue-change every few feet we clopped along the streets. It got to the point that the rows stretched on for so long, I believed the palace in the center of this mecca did not exist. In reality, time was bent, similar to the light, and we reached the palace in due time. The company quickened their step noticeably, and once we dismounted our horses, they nearly raced to the entry hall. Anders fell into step beside me, a more pronounced bounce in his step. He smiled widely at me.

"Home is...most beautiful place on earth, I think. The king is a generous, good man, and we all happy to be here. You...you will be too."

He grinned at me even wider and leapt forward, leaving me to shuffle quietly behind, afraid to offend or bother someone in the royal surroundings. The tall doors rose up to meet us, made of impenetrable dark wood, and they swung open as soon as the first of the happy man-children bounded to them. The laughter that echoed as they shouted and whooped within the giant halls reminded me of a home-coming, as if they were young children come back from play, and happy to be in a safe place again. The interior of the palace was rich and lush, bright colors dominating, and striking beautiful contrast to the earthy tones just outside its grasp. Another of the group cartwheeled to my side abruptly.

"Welcome to home!!"

He pounded me on the back and sprinted forward, going into another large doorway and waving to me from behind. I quickened my pace, eager to see who it would be, and entered the room, a sort of glorified throne room, where a great chair of more dark wood inlaid in shining gold sat, with a young man, no older than perhaps King Aidan, but sporting short blonde cropped hair, a clean face, and bright clear eyes. I stopped, and bowed on my knees, hearing eager and excited voices jostle for attention in front of me. A clear and low voice cut through them in their native tongue, and after a brief period of speaking and laughter, I was pulled up gently by the shirt, and stood face to face with the blue eyed young man. He looked startlingly young up close, and his smile was wide and bright.

"You are the emissary for King Aidan of Briton?"

I nodded, not sure if this court operated similarly to our system of Briton. He smiled yet wider, and draped his arm over my shoulder, unsettling me slightly.

"From the descriptions of Aidan's mighty warrior, I expected a burly man twice my height, and wielding a great longsword!!"

The hall roared in laughter, though I could not discern if it was at my expense or at the comparison between the imagined Ash and my own appearance. He guided to a gilded table at the side and let me sit to his right, an honour unheard of for a lowly servant such as I. Strong clear ale was served in large pints for us, and the King drank one immediately before staring in earnest at me. He smiled widely and bade me drink, and I was delighted at the gentleness that the beer slid down with, tingling instead of outright burning, like so much ale of my own country.

"The men tell me it was a good journey, I trust you have liked Danmark as far as you have seen?"

"My lord, it is a beautiful country you have in your domain, anyone would be blessed to live here. The land is gentle, and the people still gentler in their kindness."

He seemed delighted by my response and pounded on the table while liberally drinking from his glass.

"I am most pleased with the alliance between your country and ours. It was the King's idea to arrange the betrothal, and I must say, it came as a good surprise, to have good luck on any occasion."

Internally I was balking, the King had thought of this? And with no consultation to me, or the council?

"The Saxons, in past years, and especially now with your victorious campaign have begun sailing for other shores, including ours. If all goes well with this alliance, we may receive some of that British courage and valour that is so vaunted at our ports."

Military aid? I had no doubt that Aidan had offered such things in return for an alliance. He seemed to have become intelligent in the ways of foreign contacts, and the unfolding deal began to unsettle me greatly.

"The lady is on her way here as we sit and drink, I am quite glad Aidan's champion turned out to be the fairer sex, I was worried about the prying hands of a drunken knight!"

I smiled courteously to him and drank my ale before responding.

"I assure you, my lord, no harm will come of your sister so long as she is charged under my protection." (if only!)

He smiled at me, and seemed to relax into his chair, assuming an opener air and posture towards me.

"I quite like you, knight of Briton. You may call me Glen, if it suits you, you have struck a chord within me I quite like. My sister will no doubt share that fondness as well." (if only he knew!)

We heard doors slam open and shut, and we both stood and bowed, as I heard light whispers and gentle giggles from the door I had previously entered.

"This, good sir, is my sister, Spencer."

"It is my very good pleasure to meet you, kind sir."

I stood up, and began my sentence, but choked upon air instead. Everyone glanced curiously at me, including..._her. _She was there, RIGHT there!!! In flesh and bone, the girl I loved, the woman that came to me unheeded in dreams and _awen_ alike, the girl who had stolen my heart, but never given me anything fully. It was...Spencer?

"I...pleasure is mine, my lady. I will be your protectorate until Briton is reached."

I smiled at her, in disbelief, shock, awe, and hope. Perhaps we could...the King continued to talk, and I feigned hearing. I loved her...and she belonged to Aidan. My whole being was on fire, with desire, love, heartbreak, and anger. God was not a good creature, and wyrd...wyrd was merely toying with me. I wanted to leave this room and withdraw to a place where sunlight would not see my tears, and where others would not hear my languishing cries. I said nothing, but followed mutely through a tour of the palace, a place I found stifling, contrived, and ugly suddenly. I could not look anywhere but at her. She walked ahead, with me trailing behind, and I vainly hoped and strained that she would turn around, and look at me, speak to me...tell me why this was happening to me. To us. I sat, mute and somehow alienated through the wedding celebration, but retired early, citing weariness from the road as my excuse. I was given quarters in the womens wing (unheard of in Briton), and drifted off into a fitful sleep. I had a dream.

It was her, Spencer and I, in a field, dappled with sunlight from a covering of clouds above us. I went to go to her, to hug her and demand we speak in life, but before I took a step, she fell, blood seeping out of some unseen wound. I cried, and fell to my knees, my whole body stiff and un-moving. The air grew cold. I cursed and cursed, and tried to flail towards her, screaming that I loved her, and that I would protect her, and stay with her, forever. I felt hands, cold as ice wrap around my neck, and I awoke. I flailed out of bed, and hit the flagstones with a shout and thud. I lay on the floor, sobbing and curled up for some time before a gentle, warm hand grasped mine. I knew it was her, but I was terrified that she was really hurt. My neck after all ached with frost bite, and I knew I would have to conceal bruises and scratches for some time after this.

"Do not cry, it was only Nimue playing with you."

I grasped her hand so tight I feared it would break and sobbed harder onto the floor. I wished to apologize, to beg forgiveness, but above all, I wanted to tell her that I loved her. The hand I did not have clenched in mine stroked my hair gently, and my entire body lit up, a feeling similar to being drunk affecting my mind. The crying subsided, and I gently righted myself, with her hand still in mine. I swallowed loudly, and resisted the urge to hug her to me tightly.

"What...what will we do? I love you, Spencer. You are not mine..."

She wrapped me in a warm hug, somehow familiar to me from my dream, but so oddly beautiful and comforting, I began to cry again. I do not recall ever crying so hard or so often in my life before that moment, there with an angel protecting me from myself. I wore myself out subsequently, with my drawn-out sorrow, and was put back to bed by her in a hazed stupor. I wished for her to stay, and tried to make her see my thoughts, and to heed my wish. She smiled sadly at me and kissed me gently on the forehead.

"I love you, as well Ashley. Never worry, I will love you first, and always most."

I awoke in the morning, feeling empty, jaded, and my neck burning to the touch, further proof that indeed, Nimue was no dream. But it was alright, because if Nimue was real, Spencer was as well, and I could not bear the thought of Spencer NOT being a real person. I ate silently in the kitchen, away from the King, his retinue, and her of course. My mind wandered to her and only her, and I thought vainly, she may think of me as often as I did of her. The question remained, of course, of what to do once we returned, for I would not give up this feeling, this girl, this love, for a vain king and his ambitions to unite the world. The world could burn for all I care! Give me Spencer, and I would need nothing else. I was summoned to a war council with the King to discuss plans of what my kingdom planned to do next. To be truthful, at that juncture I did not know. I was sure that the Saxon bands had been killed or driven away, which may force them to Ireland (not a problem) or here (which would be). Our conjecture reached only that far, because the next step could go one of both ways.

The kings themselves of Briton were troublesome, and no doubt, some might come to our cause if asked in the face of our victories. The "high king" Bercilak would no doubt have something to say about all this in the coming days, if not already issuing a proclamation condemning us for our ventures.

"There may be war, my lord, of that I will not deceive you."

The king stroked his chin thoughtfully, his advisors and several lithe and tough looking young men, his battle chiefs, present.

"If civil war does indeed break, what shall Aidan require of us?"

I shrugged, my mind not really on the subject we discussed.

"Only Aidan himself would know, and when it comes to Bercilak and his legions, there is no telling what that man would do to keep his title."

"How great is his domain?"

I looked to the map of my homeland and thought briefly, and took a quill, beginning to mark the map.

"His seat of power is in a large town that is slightly above what was Melandra. It is a city called Legeolium, his territory begins there, and spreads upwards to the wall."

"And what is the wall?"

"It was built by the Romans, very long ago, the northern section beyond it was once one of the most prestigious grounds we had in our country, but with the advent of the Picts and Saxons, the northern piece was taken easily, we call that land Pictland. There are one or two British settlements directly near it, and besides that, no Briton may enter that land and return alive."

The king paused in deep thought once again, and I idly chipped at the table with the sharp quill, feeling listless and craving a walk through the woods near the castle. He snapped his fingers and smiled brightly.

"Of course! Why not dispatch the Picts first?"

I looked up to him, his smile much like hers, white and wide, and stretching into his identical blue eyes.

"We would have to march through Bercilaks territory which would be certain suicide."

"How long, in estimates, would the conquest of Pictland take?"

I spread my hands honestly, guessing at what he was thinking.

"The land is quite extensive, what the Picts have, it would be probably a fall to spring campaign, if launched this year."

"We are in summer?"

"Early summer, that is correct."

"And how fare your forces?"

"When last left, they looked quite worn, but some rest will have them ready, my army is quite ready to die for Briton."

Even I could not help the sniff of pride I had, we had conquered the forces of the Saxons with relative ease, and I knew my men were capable of even greater deeds than that. The king once again tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"If Danmark were to pledge her ships, men, horses, and supplies to this Pictland adventure, would your king perhaps be interested in a gesture in return?"

I was given the permission to accept treaties as the kings emissary, and my interest was piqued.

"We would like to have the territory, Pictland, in return for helping liberate it."

I choked on the goblet of wine I drank. Everyone laughed at it, their eyes suddenly viciously turned on me. One of the kings main contingents was to free Briton from foreign aid or hindrance, making us a completely free country.

"Alas, I cannot answer that for my king, that is something of treaties which I do not feel comfortable signing to."

The king nodded and smiled widely at me.

"All in good time, but that is food for thought perhaps, now, I have a review with some bawdy guards, feel free to explore the palace, or our city."

He bowed and left, his retinue leaving as well, leaving me at the large oaken table alone. I restlessly wandered to the stables, picking a young colt at random and riding out in no direction, my heart heavy, yet so light at the same time. Mentally I called out to her, and regardless of if she was listening, I told her I loved her, and that I missed her dearly. Along the way, light summer rain fell, bathing me in warm liquid, and making me smile greatly as we approached the woods. I felt no unease, like the dark woods of my home, and I left the horse tethered to the grassland to graze while I wandered into it. The air was cooler, and the ground host to many plants that I had never seen in the forests of our Briton. I wished vainly for a sketch pad so I could document some of the things I saw, knowing Cath and Bliant would be delighted like young boys to see new things like that.

"I brought your sketch pad, I figured you would forget it with your musings."

I whirled around, my heart in my throat, and nearly collapsed in relief when it was her. She was leaning against a tall, sky-scraping tree, and staring at me with a bemused smile. I was afraid to approach her, my limbs shaking and my face involuntarily grinning like an idiot at her. Words would not come, once again.

"How fares your neck?"

"I...it is fine. Frostbitten of course, but that is the price I pay for partaking in this war of yours."

She smiled sadly at me, and I moved several steps towards her.

"How did you...I have so many questions for you, my lady."

She slid around the tree and plunged deeper into the woods, and I could do no thing but follow her, even if it were to lead me into the centre of Hell. She walked slowly, but I kept distance, pacing her as I would while hunting a timid unknowing hind in the forest. Her hair was down in sheets of finely spin gold, capturing the light and almost devouring it, the sunlight not reflecting, but being sucked into the gold itself, giving it a lustrous shine, but nothing outrightly glaring. Her steps were quiet and sure, as if she had traversed these woods many times before. She quickened, and I followed for untold time, the patterns cast by the leaves above us painting shapes and shades upon her like the most glorious painting ever envisioned. The scenery got increasingly green and shady until we were in a twilight akin to sunset, and going still further into the darkness. Finally, I saw her stop, several dozen paces ahead, and came to a safe distance behind her, still afraid I would startle her away and make this entire adventure null. I saw her hand dangle behind her, clasping and motioning me forward. I hesitated.

"Come here, I will not run."

You could hear the smile in her voice, and I timidly approached, gently grasping her hand. We stood at the foot of a quiet waterfall, the noise like a soft rushing sound of a field of reeds dancing in the wind. The pool it emptied into was clear and deep blue, much like her eyes, the water dancing and throwing specks of light from the sun every which way.

"I come here when troubled, I have been here of late, waiting for you."

I smiled widely at her, and grasped her hand tighter.

"I know what you did...with Gyneth."

My smile faded, and I felt her pull away and walk around the pool, until she came to face me on the opposite side of it.

"I am sorry, Spencer, but...I was scared."

She frowned deeply at me, but said nothing. The shadows lengthened and we stared at each other for what amount of time I could not guess.

"Are you scared still?"

"Terrified, my lady."

She laughed, in a sound akin to bells lightly dancing and producing faint sounds, which made me laugh as well, even if we laughed at my stupidity.

"I love you, Spencer. We can figure this out. We can be together."

"If only you knew...Ashley. If only you knew."

She smiled sadly to me and turned to depart, I made to follow, but she held up her hand.

"They are looking for you, it would be advisable to stay where you are and let them find you."

"But...what of you, my love?"

"I was never here."

She made to run, but I darted around and made for her hand, grabbing it and whirling her into my chest. She looked startled, and tried to break free but I held on tight, almost as if for dear life.

"We have to hide?"

She looked to me, her eyes wide, tears threatening the edges. I gathered her up in my arms and hugged her tightly.

"I love you, and anything you demand I do, I will."

"Never stop loving me, Ashley. We cannot be seen together, not here at any rate. Always be wise, and never forget, we were never meant to be."

She fled, and just as she darted behind a large tree, crashing from the opposite direction startled me, seeing several large guards muscling through the tangling vines and leaves. They smiled widely when they found me and waved me back, saying the King and his sister wished to dine with me in private that night. I smiled to myself, and abided quietly to them. As we tramped loudly through the previously quiet backdrop, I heard her in the back of my mind, almost as clearly as if she were whispering it into my ear.

"I love you, Ashley."

I smiled widely to the guards around me, and marched proudly on.


	17. Chapter 17

-Because you gave me your lips, a gentle kiss, and the medicine that killed my pain.

We tramped back to the palace in due time, the return journey not half as long as the plod into it, which made me marvel still at her powers, and what she may or may not have done to extend our time together. The idiot grin only spread further. I was given leave to change my tunic, now grass and sweat stained, and refreshen to retire to the private chambers of the king, with his sister. A heartbeat later, I was shown into the room, Glen and Spencer animatedly talking, Glen with a wide smile and exaggerated hand gestures, while Spencer threw back her head and laughed. The moment was far too perfect to interrupt, and I stood in the background as he told a tale of what the guards he had reviewed had done to the hated town magistrate for giving a tax to employed soldiers. Suddenly, her eyes settled and lit upon me, her smile becoming huge. I saw her make to get up, but slammed herself back down, and I had to restrain a similar urge to hug her as well. Glen waved me over and concluded his tale, giving me a seat to his right, across from Spencer.

"Ah knight! I had to send out my most canny to track you down, you got quite lost I understand."

I smiled at him and spilt several drops in homage to the gods and dashed the flask of beer down my throat.

"Your town is unrivaled, but I love the wild infinitely more than towns, and the plants in these parts are foreign to our shores, I could not help myself. For being late, I do humbly apologize."

He smiled and waved a limp hand, clapping twice, and having the board instantly flooded with roast legs of lamb, braised beef, shredded pork, ten kinds of cheeses, and twice as many breads with steaming broth to accompany it. We tucked in in silence, though while I shoveled food into my mouth, I could not long keep my eyes from her. Glen was wholly invested in his food, and I glanced up to see her eyes securely fastened on mine. I smiled earnestly to her, trying to cover up the clenching of my heart, and the difficulty I had in swallowing the food I had consumed when she stared at me. This went on for some time, until dinner had been cleared, and clear, sweet wine was served to us in steaming mugs. I was delighted at the alcohol, and the sweetness with which every Danish brew had infused into it. Glen drank his in one drought and was refilled before smiling to me.

"Have you given any thought to our talk earlier this day?"

"Much, my lord, and I can say, that this decision should be left to King Aidan, God forbid I make the decision to have him counter with his own."

Glen chuckled and looked to Spencer expectantly.

"What sort of treatment can my sister look forward to in the service of your king?"

Inside, my heart clenched tightly, and the thought of them together, pushed out of my head thus far, re-entered, and paraded in front of me. I sat silent for a time, feigning thought, but really, I could not stop thinking that this should not be. A voice entered my reverie, _speak, my love._

"I...he is...most kind, a generous...man, and very loving. I can attest to this."

Glen smiled and gave Spencer's hand on the table a squeeze.

"I quite like you, Ashley, might I speak plainly to you?"

I was still in my whirlwind of thoughts, contemplating Spencer and I's running away and absently nodded, not completely there, and staring at her, not so concealed.

"I want you to protect my sister. I have met your lord, and he seems genuine enough, but I will always fear for my sister's well-being. Can I trust you to look after her? By this I mean that you would not be a bodyguard...but a friend, who just happens to wield a sword and possess the prowess in battle."

I smiled at him, back in the room, and out of my head, and nodded. I liked Glen, he loved his sister, and for the task he entrusted of me, I would have done without provocation or prompting from him. I pushed my seat back, and walked to Spencer's side. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but she stood to meet me. I kneeled at her feet, and kissed the flagstones before her feet.

"As long as I draw breath from this body, and my hand may readily grasp a sword, I, Ashley of Tintagel, knight of King Aidan of Caer Legionis, and defender of our country, do swear here, that I will lay down my life for yours, and your protection will always be my most solemn duty."

"Arise, sir knight."

I stood slowly, and gazed into her eyes, and her small smile.

"Do you accept my oath and pledge to you, my lady?"

She hugged me suddenly, and I heard approving claps behind me, and I briefly held her to me and stepped away.

"Now that we have that piece of business sorted out, let us address when you will take my darling sister from here."

I smiled and sat back down, staring at her unwaveringly, and making her blush and break eye contact to the music of my heart singing.

"I must say, my lord, I would not object to...certain circumstances keeping me bound in Danmark until the lady feels comfortable to leave."

Glen grinned widely at me and pounded me on the back.

"My god, I am liking you more and more, sir knight!! Are you always this agreeable and thoughtful?"

I smiled to him, and then to her, and bowed my head.

"I will do whatever the lady does bid me, now that I am bound in her service until death releases me."

"I wish...to remain in Danmark. At least until mid-summers. Our knight does have a campaign to further, and ambitions to realize in Briton."

I rolled my eyes, but knew she taunted out of love, and perhaps to acknowledge that I did indeed have other issues other than her, though to be honest, I cared not for the new campaign, or the probable civil war that had erupted in my absence. The dinner concluded, and I was preparing to retire to my chambers, much excited and drained from the prospect of spending more unsupervised time with the princess before we returned, and she became a Queen, which entailed bodyguards and constant watching every day. The King had retired, and I was nearly out of the room when a hand caught mine, and turned me gently back.

"Will you not stay with me awhile, sir?"

I laughed, her tone playful, but her eyes speaking a different story to me, and telling me this was not a mere suggestion, but an order. I pulled her into my arms and rested my head on her shoulder.

"Care to walk outside? I wish for my fresh air."

"I heard storm clouds were moving in."

I kissed her gently on the head, and held her closer to me. The dream, the dream that had been imaginary was invested and real before me, and one could not blame me for not believing what I felt and saw before me.

"And? Why not chance wyrd and take a walk? I enjoy the air here, it is clean and healthful to me."

As if to accentuate my statement, we heard thunder growl as an angry dog outside of the walls. She hugged me tighter and suddenly released me, taking my hand and trailing me through the wide passages. She paused at the grand doors, glancing uncertainly around us, and pressing her back to the door to face me. She played gently with my hand that was captive in hers, bending and interlacing her fingers with mine, while staring at me intently.

"I love you, Ashley."

I smiled widely at her and kissed her on the forehead.

"I love you as well, my soul. But that will not get you out of a late night walk in the pouring rain."

She sighed at me and stuck out her tongue before pulling open one of the great oaken doors, slipping through with me and closing the door quietly behind us. We stood just under the lip of the overhang on the door, and I was delighted by the sheets of rain playing games with the feeble lights of the lanterns around the courtyard.

"There, we have seen your rain, now let us retire to a warm _dry_ bed."

I was already out cavorting in the rain, or the hint she had just dropped at me would have not gone unnoticed, or even un-heeded. But, as it were, I was busy making a fool of myself in the warm rain, spinning in circles and laughing from some unknown fount of joy within my very soul.

"Ashley, you will catch the death of you, and then who will I love so much in this world??"

I laughed even louder then, and spun faster, falling down onto the sopping wet cobblestones when the whirling of the earth became too great.

"You love me!!"

I heard laughter from above me, and opened my eyes to see her, a gentle grin on her face, staring down at me.

"I do love you, but you are far too crazy, I think."

"My soul, I am just crazy for you."

I stood up and grabbed her hand before she could mutter a word of protest and dragged her out from the gated courtyard, and down the sloping path that led to a copse of beech trees and dappled with the alien ferns and shrubbery of the region.

"It is beautiful here, I would not mind remaining here for all of time, with you."

"We could, if you really wanted to."

I grimaced to her, the first sour note of my sojourn thus far, but recovered quickly, and slid up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.

"You know as well as I do, my destiny lies on the mighty isle, not in this paradise."

"I know better than you do, my love. I wish we could remain though."

I kissed her cheek and drew her to me even tighter.

"We will make the most of our time here, and anywhere else wyrd takes us to."

She turned in my arms and laid her head on my shoulder, resting her mouth on the inside of my neck. Her warm breath nearly burnt my skin with its warmth compared to the cool air and water splashing around us.

"Will you never leave me?"

"Lady, I swore you a knight's oath, I will never leave your side, even if death may try to take me."

Her grip on me tightened, and I felt her shake despite the accumulated warmth between us. I stroked her hair softly.

"What is it you fear, my love?"

"I did not mean that you leave me as a knight. I meant that...you would never leave me, because of the king and what may happen...would you?"

I found the base of her neck and softly cupped it, kissing her temple, and leaving my lips rested against her skin, which smelled of wild vanilla and sandalwood.

"My lady, I was yours from the moment I heard you call my name in my _awen_, I would never leave you. And I will always, always love you."

She withdrew and smiled brightly at me, and the world around us became ten degrees lighter. I brushed back her limp hair, and framed her face gently with my hands. My heart felt full of the things I wished to say to her, but my brain could not properly connect itself to my soul, or my heart to speak of them. It was then that she kissed me, underneath the veiled burning angels in the sky, with the warm rain to baptize us anew, and her body pressed intimately against mine. She yielded to every move I made, and flowed languidly in response to every tiny thing I did. Hours later found us winded and ruffled lying on the newly sprouted grass. Her smile was breathless, and her laughter high and light, her hand never leaving mine for the smallest of moments. This was how days were spent, from that night on. The king never exerted much say on her activities, and I found she was free to wander as she pleased, taking me with her. For how could any think it odd the young betrothed princess took with her her faithful friend and companion? We used the cover to its full advantage, and found ourselves undisturbed in the great libraries her father had built in the bowels of the palace, in the cool forest, at the crystalline pond, and in the bustling streets of her town.

I learned of her life, or at the very least, her mortal one. She had never left her state physically, but she revealed, on many a bright and sweltering days spent hidden in the canopy of dark trees and each others arms, that she had followed me since I had been very young. She described in perfect detail the embarrassment and abuse I endured before knighthood, and how she wished to strike that old bear down dead, and burst into tears more than once when wounds would open under Calogrenant's instructions. She told me how scared she had been when Nimue had ambushed us as the castle Melandra, or how uncertain she was that I would even live. She always treated my injured arm with great care, even though it had been unbound for a small time. She traced the scarring from the bones and surgery, and gently prodded at the spots where she knew there was still hidden injury. She was the most beautiful, open, caring, giving, and sweet person I had ever seen, and to think, she loved me, some kings lapdog! For every inch of her that was sweet and caring, under the surface dwelt a divine creature possessed of a fatal flaw; that of jealousy.

It was never an issue, at least in the beginning, and I always believed it would be me to struggle vaingloriously with that many headed beast, but it was my angel instead that was stricken with that most serious malady. It started with my red bracelet, and progressed from there, as time wore on in circles and shapes. To be honest, I never minded her ill-founded jealousy, it made me laugh, and merely hug her closer and whisper that no thing in the world would ever rob her of me or my love I gave to her. Oh what wondrous days and nights passed us! It was if I was in a waking dream, and she spun the stories and adventures for my weary mind to traverse. I became so relaxed, that I even began to shirk my duties of carrying my claymore and mail shirt, something I never let leave my sight in the days of Nimue's terrible dreams. Spencer was the light, and all else was the shadows and darkness that could wait for another day to try and strike, only to be pierced by brilliant glory that was our love. Our time dwindled and petered out, until at last, with a giant and excessive feast and sent us off with an entire company of men to see us through the days. The dream was only pleasant for a few days or so, before life shattered it, and reality stampeded and taught us our first lesson in what it was to love, and be shamed by its very existence.


	18. Chapter 18

--Your rhinestone eyes are like factories faraway....

We had reached the mainland of Danmark in no long amount of time, and were traversing towards the far shore, when it happened. I had gone off to get water-skins (more to show off my usefulness and strength to Spencer than anything really) and as stated before, I had neglected my chainmail and claymore for some time. It was in that heartwrenching moment, when as I leaned over the gurgling stream that I heard a high keening, and something akin to a lightning bolt struck me in my mind. I was on my feet and dashing wildly through the trees, making a horrible noise, when I happened onto our camp, now ablaze with fire, and being stamped to destruction by a band of men. I saw a flash of blonde, and perhaps a muffled "Ashley!" and to be honest, I would have launched myself like a rabid animal regardless of seeing that or not. I was not sure how many of the men were ours, and how many were attacking, but I had seen that blonde off in the far corner of the glade where we had stopped for the night.

I saw a guard drive a sword deep into a bandits chest, and flew by, wrenching it into the ground and pulling it out, dashing into the mass of writhing, bleeding, cursing men. Somewhere along the way from my spot to the corner, I had been wounded on my arm (yet again, o wyrd!) and blood began mixing with the gushes running freely around me. I reached the spot to see a man attempting to hoist Spencer into a waiting stallions saddle, while she kicked fiercely, and I saw her flailing nails catch one man in the cheek. One of them swiftly delivered a blow to the back of her head and she went limp. Now, I cannot safely say what happened. Pierre, who was present, said he heard something like a demon howling and turned to see headless corpses in a ring around Spencer and I. Other guards said they saw me rip heads off with my bare hands. Still others said I bit into necks and tore out throats, choking men with their own flesh and blood before wrenching their heads off. I cannot tell you what indeed I did do, for all I saw in those moments of death was Spencer's face, and the thought of her being hurt, where I could have prevented it...I blacked out. I will say no more, not of that horrible, hazy, blood-drunk afternoon. I rode with her in the carriage, waiting for her to revive, my hands clenched tightly onto the benches so hard I saw bones grind nearly through my skin. My claymore lay at my feet, and her head was in my lap, with a bruise growing on the base of her neck. I thought I would die, with all the hate that coursed inside of me, with all of the rage, with all of the love, the fierce, bright, baleful fear of losing that love twisted my insides so tightly, it felt as if I was being wrung out like a towel.

I felt her stir against my legs, and heard her whimper, her hand shakily seeking the source of her discomfort. I caught her hand in mine, and tears blurred my vision. I tried to speak, to gasp out an apology, or explanation, but nothing came, nothing but wet strangled lowing, something akin to a dying cow I would think. The fear that rose within my throat at that moment made me very nearly sick, and the way my heart beat, or should I say, did not beat, was pain within itself. I had never felt this crippling anxiety before in my life. Looking back, it was merely a blow to the neck, nothing to warrant a doctor, or full fledged panic, but in that instant, with her lying wounded before me, that bruise may very well have been a poisoned arrow, killing her, and wrenching my heart with it. She opened her eyes as I struggled for words, my teeth grinding into each other, my body heaving against the wooden seats. My entire being was focused on that warm point that I held in my hand. Her hand clasped so tightly within mine was all I could think of, all I could feel, all I could see. In those moments, the feeling of her squeezing gently back to me moved me to roaring sobs of tears as I collapsed downward and onto her. Her hands stroked my hair slowly, and I tried with all my might to stop the gales that wracked my body, but the longer I thought of it, the more I sobbed.

"Hush, my love, I live and breath."

She kissed the side of my head gently, but I refused to relinquish her.

"I will not live long in this plane if you insist on strangling me so!"

I lifted my heavy head, and saw her smile gently at me, brushing tears away from my eyes. Her smile faded, and her eyes focused in on me.

"You are so beautiful."

I hushed my urge to cry again, and stared at her, the light being sucked into them, and refracted out in different angles, as if they were panes of stained glass that warped the very stuff around them.

"I love you."

I meant to apologize, to stutter out why I had not been there, but at that moment, nothing in this world was more important than telling her, with all my heart and soul, that I loved her. And I did. And I do, still.

"And I love you. I am safe, and you are safe. Nothing else is needed."

We fell asleep, her curled up on my lap, and my hand entangled with hers, letting her breath play music to the steady rhythm of the ocean bound carriage. Time passed without further incident, though I always had one hand on my claymore, and the other was always on the small of her back, or her hand, or whatever secretive gesture we could chance. The shore rose to greet us, and the green and blue once again danced together, and reminded me much of the love I was now victim to. The ocean was something she was always fond of, and time found us by the sea many more times than I could possibly count. The passage across the sea would take another many days, and the trip back to Legionis would be even more wearying. It was just Spencer and I on the ship, given the captains quarters, and rarely disturbed. The thought would have delighted me, if not for a depression that laid itself on me like a thick blanket. She noticed the shift in moods, and confronted me while I let my legs dangle from the rear of the ship, watching the wake that the fitful rudder threw up behind our passage. I could always tell when she was approaching, for my heart would pound ten times faster than it had been before, and though this was probably not in the best interest of my health, it indicated when she drew near, as if my soul and hers were synced.

"You grow doleful and brooding, my love. What is it?"

I said nothing, hoping she would not read my thoughts, or my heart, though to hope for that would be to hope that the sun would never again rise, or that the Mighty Isle were to be stripped of all life. She ran her fingers gently through my hair, sitting beside me, and leaning her head on my shoulder. Her whole body seemed to sag onto me like a shaking pole, and I supported her, as steadily and quietly as ever.

"You know I love you."

I nodded, and bit my lip to stop some form of protest, and quietly took her hand in mine, smiling at how hers shined radiantly in comparison to my tanned and scarred hands.

"Whatever will happen with the king, will happen. No matter what, you will never leave my mind, my heart, or my soul."

I frowned, uncertain as to what that could mean. I began to ask, but was cut off by her gentle kiss on my lips. I would have resisted, being in plain sight at the moment, but when she did kiss me, the world could come crashing down, shattering like crystal, and never again reforming, and I would be so beautifully unaware of that rending, that it would be almost ridiculous. She drew back, and smiled at me gently (as always) and lifted my limp arm to drape across her shoulders, fitting herself into the nook created by our bodies.

"Something horrible ripped our souls apart, so very long ago, and in this life, and the next, and the next, we will seek each other out, regardless of our forms."

I would have questioned this, if the idea had been given to me by anyone else, but when Spencer spoke of the universe, of next lives, and of souls, she knew what she spoke of, and I could not question the certainty she invested in us. I did not question, because I believed her right. If only.

"My soul is yours, Ashley. With whatever shred of my soul that is not yours, I promise you that we will last for all of eternity, you and I."

My fears were quelled that day, and for many many nights, I did not question it, because when I was joined with her, or near her, or perhaps even thinking of her, I felt linked to a cosmic connection. It was like I was linked to the very things that made the stars (angels) or the thing that kept our feet on ground, or the water in the oceans. In our love, I somehow found all of natures mysteries, so great and small, solved, and contained in an in infinitesimal space, and that space was what we called out own. The boat-ride home was uneventful, with me teaching Spencer how to navigate by the stars and night-time sky, and how to tell when a crossbreeze was present, or what to do if ever stuck in doldrums for extended amounts of time. As we approached Briton, I felt strangely anxious, not for the prospect of presenting her to the king, but rather that she would see the land that had given birth to me, and see the places that I had haunted and loved, and been in for my life.

"I want to see _all_ of your favorite places, my love, and see the things that you love to see."

She said it more than once, and I was so happy and bursting with pride to hear it, that I obliged her as soon as we disembarked. We were set down at the sleepy seaside village of Holme, and with two bought ponies, began our long trek back to Legionis. The days were long, bright, and sunny, and the greenery, though seeming so dull in contrast to that emerald isle from afar, captivated and delighted my love. The trip itself should have only taken two weeks at most, and we were waylaid by her curiosity and interest for more than three. I cannot say I was mad, or upset by her idleness, and encouraged it, taking her to monuments visited by me in my somewhat absent childhood. By day we would traverse the spans of green valleys, and visit long abandoned Caers and Roman forts, and by night, would pass the time with stories, or by having her force me to regale her of my war stories. We sat by the fire, burning bright, and with the additional warmth of us together under one blanket, I considered, for some time, to never return home.

"We could stay away from Legionis, Ashley. We could go back to Danmark perhaps, or onto Europa. We could leave, and always love each other."

She read my thoughts, that young wily girl. I kissed her head gently, and held her tighter.

"We could never do that. The king will be expanding his domain, the Saxon campaigns, they were just the beginning."

She clucked, and buried her head in my neck. I smiled, she was not fond of Aidan, which both pleased and entertained me immensely.

"I will fight for him, and build him his empire. When I hang up my sword, for him and Briton, I will take you from him, and spirit you off in great secrecy, to another place."

"Outside of Briton?"

Her eyes glowed, childlike and fueled by the fire, wide and curious, but deep and knowing.

"Anywhere that you would please, I will use my own warchest to fund our explorations. We will make nowhere our home, but wander, and love, until the end of our days."

She smiled into my skin, making me warmer than the fire could have.

"Like gypsies?"

"Like faieries, my love. Like anything you want. Anything you could want, will be yours. You do not need a king to do the things you wish, I can do them."

I sounded bitter, but tried to mask it. I had to prove myself to her, had to prove that my love, and my limited wealth were better than Aidan's fortune, army, domain, and power.

"My soul, Aidan, in all his glory and dreaming, will never be able to give me what you will give me."

I rested my head on top of hers, locking into a position like that of a battle formation, in such perfect unison and harmony, that I wished time to freeze in this moment, for all of creation.

"I love you, so very dearly, Spencer."

She found my hands and intertwined her fingers with mine, relaxing against me, and making me support her light weight.

"And I love you, Ashley. Sing me something."

"What would you like to hear, my love?"

"Something soft, sad and delicate, or loud and out of key, sing me anything, Ashley."

I kissed her gently, and laid back, curling up to protect her from the light wind playing with the grass and leaves above us. I sang an old Cymry war chant into her ears, humming mostly, and softly intoning the call to battle, the rally for support, the signal for charging, and the sorrow of loss, weaving all of my pain, triumph, victory, and loss into one song, that I poured out to her, as she slowly drifted to sleep. It was then that I knew the world revolved around us, and it was beautiful.

--i know you're reading this. Hope you dont mind I stole some of your promises. (fluff attack, eh? night)


	19. Chapter 19

-My bike tried to kill me again, and the devil in me saw the god in you. Thats life.

We protracted time as best we could, haunting the glens and woods of my childhood, reliving old memories that I thought were never to resurface from the depths of my mind, and making my heart sing like the larks and birds in distant hills. Life was good, life was beautiful, and she was the most beautiful of all. The days took wings, much like our love did, and before I could even protest it, we found ourselves outside of the Caer, the walls looking sparse and unfriendly, the dark wood off to our right, and the ocean further on past that. I sighed, my heart feeling heavy in my chest. I wished that this day had never come, because as soon as we passed through those great doors, she was not mine, but his, and Briton's, until we could leave together. She gripped my hand tightly, and looked to me with a knowing smile.

"I love you best, my soul. Please do not forget that, or your promise for us."

I wasted no time in furtively glancing about and swiftly pulled her towards me, causing her to trip, and fall into my chest. I kissed her, long and hard, and my heart sang at how unified and together we felt, as if a soul was housed in two bodies at once, and when physically connected, that shattered soul sang like a chorus of angels in the ever turning heavens.

"I love you, Spencer."

She kissed my head, and we slowly led our horses up to the gates. Ill at ease as I was to enter and relinquish my love to that man I called king, I realized that I had missed my brothers, Cath and Bliant perhaps most of all. We were let in without ceremony, and I led us to put up the horses to water with the stablehands. I grasped her hand in mine, and led her slowly through the courtyard to our great doors into the hall. We paused before the doors, and I felt scared, and scarcely able to breath. She gripped my hand again, and I knew she would be with me, forever. The doors opened, and I saw in the corner near the great fireplace, my brothers gathered in a game of cards. They barely looked up to see me, and I stood dumbly in the hall, feeling home, but not just because it was the place I had originated from, but rather because my heart and soul was there with me as well.

"I love you."

She whispered it to me, and that was the last bit of strength I needed. I raised my voice.

"And those men you see, at yonder fireplace, are the king's finest gluttons, who do nothing more than sate their tastes at the expense of our poor, poor king."

Bliant slammed his cards down, a shout in his throat, which suddenly died, but was restored with even more vivacity when he beheld Spencer and I. I looked to her one more time, and she nodded, just as I turned to see Cath tumble from the chair, Aglaral give a hearty shout, and Bliant nearly fly over the table, sprinting to me, clasping me in a great bearhug, cracking my back as Cath cavorted back and forth, laughing high and light, and Aglaral and Lucan looked on, smiling enormously like pleased fathers to see their sons return home.

"And where have YOU been you old dog?? We surely missed your claymore when routing those damnable Saxons! Have you not heard?? The kings rise in revolt against that old dog Bercilak! We march on his mighty fortress as soon as the war council is out!"

He grinned bearishly at me and hugged me once again, earning my own meek hug to him as well, not realizing how much I had truly missed his banter, his quick temper, and his bloodlust. Cath had stopped cartwheeling to stare directly at Spencer, making her blush slightly. Everyone turned their eyes to her. I bit my lip, and sighed inwardly, this was to be the first of many meetings I supposed, and I had to bear it, I had to love her none the less for what was to come.

"My brothers, this is Aidan's bride. I speak with no pride when I tell you, she is perhaps the most beautiful, amazing, and sincere woman I have ever met."

She blushed, and nodded shyly to each man in turn. Bliant grinned triumphantly, and Aglaral, strangely enough, glanced from me to Spencer, then back again, and at the shining looks we exchanged while they were all introduced. I paid it no mind at the time at least. We took our seats in the corner, her sitting next to me (natural to onlookers of course, my being the only one in Briton she knows), and we clasped hands discreetly while Bliant regaled us with his tall tales of the rest of the campaign. The long of the short was really that once Santon had fallen, the Saxons were routed with relative ease, and were chased to the very edges of the east, west, and south borders, and driven up and skewered as they scrambled to reason with the Picts while we bore down on them with hellfire and brimstone. We knew they would be back, perhaps in conjunction with the Picts, or just fresh from their spawning grounds, but they would be back soon enough. Parties raged, and work, money, and men were poured into the now burgeoning empire Aidan began building. In his position was a patchwork of territories, and he convened in his chambers as we sat and talked with the Kings not entirely opposed to a centralized ruler, though Aidan would be no High King. The king would join us once a decision had been reached, and thus far, the council had been in session for nearly two days.

"And what of Bercilak? He declares war on our gathering?"

Lucan jumped in before Bliant could loose explicatives and insults upon Bercilak.

"Aye, he would never attack the caer directly, but we are receiving reports from our scouts and bretheren caers that he masses a host, most large and ready."

"So it is to be civil war?"

Lucan grimaced, and the table passed under a shadow briefly. Civil war would rend our nation into pieces, and if it became a stalemate it would be ripe for the taking by the Picts and the Saxons. Glen's offer briefly flitted into my mind, but that was not for idle war talk without the king present. We heard a slam from somewhere deep within, and whispers that grew louder in time. A rabble of men, both young and old, yet old proud kings, passed us, deep in conversation between each other, and upon scanning their faces, and briefly their talk, I discerned that somehow, Aidan had won over this great rabble of kings. The great staircase that led to the hall we sat in was suddenly eclipsed by a shadow, and we turned to see Aidan, face newly shaved, crown stoutly on his head, and wielding a triumphant, haughty grin upon his face. Despite him both taking my services and my love for granted, I could not help but love and respect this man, though in time that respect and love would warp into jealousy and hatred.

"We will have our great war, brothers, and the blood will be oh so sweet in its gushing torrents!"

He all but bounded down the staircase, taking three steps at a time. I shifted my body to hide Spencer from view, the action going unnoticed by all but Alglaral, who cast a querying eye at me.

"Kings from nearly ten kingdoms have given me men, money, and food enough to last until the world ends, we will have our war against that old bastard, and we will win!!"

He started to say more, but I had stood up to receive him, and begrudgingly taken Spencer with me, to stand directly in front of him. He paused, and looked to me, with a great grin, and then to Spencer, which caused his face to nearly split in half from the grin. I bowed deeply, trying to keep my pride swallowed, and my hand from his neck. When I had looked back up, Aidan was on his knee in front of her, an earnest and humble smile on his face. The need to puke, cry, and scream were never stronger than in that instant when he grabbed her hand, slipped a ring onto her finger, and hurriedly smashed his face onto hers in a most undignified way. I said nothing, but stepped back, and stared intently at a corner of the room, trying to think of other, better things than the travesty taking place in front of my eyes. He withdrew, his eyes sparkling, and then turned to embrace me, picking me up and spinning me around. The urge to be sick was worse now. I forced a smile as he roared laughter.

The wedding was announced that night, and took place the following week. I kept to my promise as best as I could, and I had gone nearly a week without touching Spencer. I did not rage at her in my thoughts, nor did I act foolishly, surprising myself with such self control. I felt a sadness, more ancient than the ocean that I stared at, or the sky that I spoke to when I felt lost, and I knew that our souls were connected, and Aidan's prescence all but severed and killed the sacred bond. I put up a facade as best I could, more for Spencer than for anyone else, and was forced to witness the torturous experience firsthand, being sat at his right hand while she was at his left. She did not smile at his gestures, nor giggle at his jokes, and Aidan seemed frankly aghast that a maiden could resist his charms. This pleased me immensely, and I passed away the time not spent with him planning the impending clash of the powers, or staring at Spencer and her newly given entourage practicing my weaponscraft. Normally, I would have fled the castle to traverse the forests and shores near the caer, but to leave there would be to invite Aidan to act on Spencer without my watchful eye on them to see that nothing went awry. Did they lay together on their wedding night? I cannot say. Aidan never spoke of it, nor did Spencer, and nothing she said or did ever betrayed the answer when I asked it of her. I vainly hoped for the best, but knew the worst, and accepted this humbly as I could have.

I was in the practice field outside of the caer with Aglaral practicing my forms on the greataxe on a bright and blustery day, about a week since Spencer had arrived. The wedding party was of course, still in action, and would go on until the various guests supplies (nearly four hundred in all) ran out and they departed. After that, the preparations done by myself, and Lucan would go into effect, and the warhost would mass. The days leading up to the end of the feasting were tense, and I spent as much time as possible away from that dimly lit hall, full of slavering, jawing nobles, and Aidan's hand continually wrapped around Spencer's leg. My footing was too wide, and when I swung the great axe, the momentum carried me forward, and left a hole in my defense. I sighed as Aglaral once again slammed into my bared arm with a sheathed shortsword. He stepped back and looked at me appraisingly, tapping his chin.

"Perhaps the axe is not your weapon, young brother."

I glared at him, and made to protest, but when I tried to heft the axe again, it merely slipped out of my weakened grasp. He laughed at me, and plucked the axe lightly with one arm as if it were a stick.

"How is your lance-work? I understand your wish to learn the heavier weapons, but you must consider your stature when choosing a weapon."

I was more than proficient with my claymore, and an artist with a shortsword and shield. Basic axe work was tolerable, and my bow-arm mildly capable, though much else besides that was lacking. I understood that what we were to face in the coming days would not be a disorganized rabble of screaming buffoons, but rather a tightly regimented, organized, and skilled army, with more arms knowledge than I.

"Say we were routed, but surrounded by a division of footmen. What weapon would be best then?"

Aglaral looked carefully at the racks of weapons stacked against the walls. He strode to it and picked up a morning star. He handed it to me, and took up a stance, preparing to run at me. I was never any good with the blunt instruments of war, but Aglaral knew his weapons, and I did not question his instructions. He took off at a flat sprint towards me, his shield up, and his sword swinging towards my midsection. I shouldered the mace and sidestepped his swing, arcing my own down onto his shield. The cracking of the shield was accompanied by a small squeak in the direction behind me, I startled and dropped the morning star, but found it was securely lodged in Aglaral's shield. He unclasped the shield and grinned handing it to me, and nodding towards the direction of the squeak. I turned to see Spencer timidly smiling at me, her hands nervously playing in with the front of her dress. I smiled widely to her, and saw Aglaral loping off towards the castle to get into another drunken argument with Bliant no doubt.

"He knows of us, my love."

I whirled to look at her, but she smiled serenely at me.

"He will not threaten us, all is well."

I exhaled a held breath and set to work to unlodge the morningstar from the buckler, which was now splintering at the force of the blow I struck. Spencer said nothing for a time, but I felt her intently on me, studying my every move and noise, until I finally retrieved the mace, and hefted it over my shoulder. I reached for her hand and held it loosely in mine, reveling in her softness and warmth. Her hand clasped mine tightly.

"What brings you out her, lady? Or should I ask, how did you manage to slip away from Aidan?"

She smiled sweetly at me and tugged me in the direction of a gentle hill rising to our left, and I acquiesced without much of a fight.

"I missed you, my love."

I smiled widely at her, and slung my arm gently around her shoulders and drew her soft beautiful body closer to mine. The warmth between us was exquisite, and I had missed it more than I had initially thought.

"I told Aidan I missed my protectorate, and I wished to speak with you about...matters."

I was impressed, Aidan normally would not let such a gorgeous woman very far from his sight. We arrived at the crest of the hill and walked down to the foot of it, which put us out of sight and sound of the caer. The grass was springy and smelt of dew and warm crackling summer, which invited me to fall upon the soft bed and splay myself out on the quilt of green. She smiled radiantly at me and gracefully sat down beside me, nestling herself in the crook of my arm.

"Was this the matter you wished to speak with me about?"

She laughed loudly and turned her to face me, curled up in my arms.

"These nobles bore me to tears, my love. I want to leave."

I kissed her head and looped my arms around her waist drawing her closer.

"It bores me as well, but do not worry, I swore an oath to you, and that oath will carry us to another place, soon enough, my love."

"I feel so disgusting when he touches me, I pretend it is you, but...I cannot stand it, he is not you, and he insists on..."

I said nothing, gripped her tighter and put my head down on top of hers, cinching her in and attempting to convey, through touch rather than words, that she was safe, and that no harm would come to her.

"I fear for your safety as well, my love."

"For what reason is that?"

"You march to war soon, and I can endure the wait of a lover on her beloved going to war, but I worry so much that you will be hurt in the campaigns. The fighting will be long, and there will be so many deaths."

I kissed her gently, and tried as best as I could through that intimate exchange to convey to her that I would not die, and would not incur injury.

"I will win all the kingdoms of the world for you, and I will not die. We were meant to be together, no mortal men may try to intervene in something written in the stars, no?"

She smiled wistfully at me and settled into my arms, and we spent that afternoon saying nothing and basking in the company of our love. We returned only because we knew that if night fell and we did not return, suspicions may be aroused, and search parties assembled. I hated this arrangement from the moment it had begun. I returned her into the "safety" of her husband and made myself scarce for the night, resuming wraith-like activities like sleeping during the day, and wandering the ramparts at night, reading new books, practicing weapons, and attempting to keep my mind off of her. Another week passed before the guests finally departed, and Aidan, sated for now, called the final warcouncil. Lucan and I had dispatched runners earlier in the week, and the host began to mass. Already, we were contending with numbers as great as three thousand, with several more kingdoms on its way to fulfill its pledges. Excitement buzzed in the castle, and the air was infused with the call to war.

Though we hated to see such blood and rumination come to our country, war was exciting, and in those days, war was still thought to be a novel exploration of the human soul and body. The war council of my brothers and I sat around a great map, cut and marked to pieces to show Bercilak's holdings, and where we planned to strike. While I had been gone, Lucan and Cath had hatched an ingenious new device with which to wage war.

"Attack briefly and then run?? That is cowardice even Bercilak would never do!!"

Bliant was enraged at the proposition. I thought it was amazingly brilliant, as did the rest of us. Cath was in the midst of his sputtering excited tale of how he envisioned our assaults.

"We use bands of men, like the war bands of yore, and have them no larger than a hundred men with a commander. They learn of caravans, or outposts, or campground, and they descend at night, light fire, loose arrows, steal their breathes while they labour to wake!!"

Cath looked out of breath and harried, but grinned to me, who would have the final say.

"This plan pleases me, Cath, and I support this venture."

Bliant groaned, but the rest of the council was in agreement that this would strike out at the unsuspecting old boar and take him by surprise. It was decided that as many as ten bands of these one hundred men could be spared before the initial armies met each other. Divisions of the men would take place at the war camp, but that was for another time. Aidan planned on striking out at most of the popular and well known establishments under Bercilak's care, and if he did not yield once his superfortress of Legeolium fell, we would besiege him at his well known refuge at Beverley, near our east coast. The list of towns and caers to dismantle was lengthy, and the task would be grueling, but it had to be done. Even as fatalistic as I was in our times of travail in war, I could not help the growing excitement within my heart, and the prowess I hoped to win against in the days to come. The council was let out near midnight, and we were to march that next day, collecting troops as we moved northward. We would stop in a vale outside of a small farming town in several days time, and from scouts reports, formulate where the small bands of men would go, and what settlement of Bercilak would fall to our rage first.

I went for a walk on the ramparts, laying my hands on the cool stones, bidding my fond haunts farewell until I could return, and turning to say goodbye to the fields, forests, and ocean respectively. A small hand laid itself on arm, and if I had been more ill at ease, I might have snapped that small appendage, but as it were, I merely tightly grasped her hand in mine. I did not question how she found me here, but smiled to her, and turned to look at the kingdom, which felt as though it had been years since I had returned. I heard a small sniff behind me. I turned to see water in her eyes, and tracks working down her cheeks.

"My lady, what troubles you so?"

I wiped her cheeks clean and kissed her gently, her sadness tinting her mouth salty-sweet, and gently clasped her into my arms.

"I hate to see you go."

I kissed her temple, grasping both hands in mine.

"You know better than I do, we will never be far, I will dream of you often, and I am sure _awens_ of both good and ill portent will visit me. In those trips to the Otherworld, I will see you so often, you will grow sick of my very company."

She laughed half-heartedly, and struggled to keep a smile on her face.

"What would ease your burden of worry, my love?"

She withdrew something from her neck and clasped a warm necklace around my own neck. I looked at it in the moonlight to see it was a small silver cross on a golden chain. On the back of it was carved with care, and childlike script, Spencer's name.

"Never remove this, it will let me know you are alright, and it will protect you, as best as I can."

I kissed the baby cross and kissed her, long and hard, under the moonlight. I withdrew but a few inches, and stared into her eyes, sucking light and the very space around her into them as pits into the earth would do.

"I will miss you every second I cannot touch you."

I whispered it against her lips, and kissed her again, my hands wandering to her back, to her arms, to her neck, trying to cover skin, imprint it in my mind, and burn it into my skin. I wished we could have stayed there longer. I wish (however sinfully) that we had had time to do more than just kiss, but she was risking so much to sneak out and see me on that ghostly, pale night. She left me with a lingering kiss, and so many hushed, tearful "I love you's" that for a long long time, they played in silence until it was nearly madness in my head. I saw her once more that day, her hand grasped in the iron grip of Aidan as he bade farewell to his troops, which he would join once they approached Bercilak's main fortress. I took my eyes off her for not a second, while everyone chanted and cheered, throwing flowers and coins to passing soldiers, until at last, with a final salute, and an "I love you" spoken between our eyes, I was forced to break contact, and turn towards the road leading from my soul. The days following that severing of our love and contact were torturous in their length, and cruel in their brutality. I sing this tale of woe yet further.


	20. Chapter 20

-Wrote this awhile ago and stumbled onto it when I was switching my ops system back from Linux, may start writing again, feels odd to be ghosting these boards again. Cheers.

I had to forget Spencer, however temporarily, to get the plans of our assault straightened with the commanding officers. We had handpicked dozens we felt met our approval, and these would be given raiding parties, while we would divide the main force up among ourselves. I myself had no objections to the raiding, or to the main siege, and as such, I was given a raiding party, more as a trial run of Cath's incredible idea than to show I had more courage than normally acceptable. I missed Spencer, and the joy the impending attack had to the soldiers was deflected off of my melancholy. I gently gripped Spencer's cross and thought of her mournfully, giving half-felt orders and lackluster performances to my men. If not for the novelty of this war, spirits would have been considerably dampened by my moods, but as it was, no one noticed. Aglaral gave me strange looks, and Cath devoted himself to my amusement, but I paid them no mind. We had divided up our main war host, leaving the bulk of it, nearly twenty-five hundred souls, intact, and under the command of Bliant. We took six hundred men and divided them into the six raiding parties, which was further subdivided into groups of fifty, each pair of fifty reporting to a different commander.

"Sir!"

I looked up from that tiresome and hacked up map to look at a new shining recruit, yet untested, and full of all the vigor and pride of a Briton.

"We have assembled the raiding parties, and they will dispatch at your command. Sir Lucan says he will march our main body out of the vale and through the hill-country to arrive at the hold of Iskria."

I waved my hand to him and turned to my contemplation. Sad and moody as I may have been, there was still a warlord to dismember. Three of the warbands would scout to the north ahead of the main war body, and wreck havok and chaos ahead of us, while I led the other portion of our warband further north to dispatch the smaller holdings, which would free up the main force when they came to the main road leading to Bercilak's main fortress. I rolled up a map and withdrew to my horse, sounding my hunting horn, a rather sad tone, and gathered the one hundred men to me.

"We ride hard northward. We have moors, forests, bogs, and treacherous slopes to pass through, and still look sharp for our appointment at Buxton."

Snickers were shared, but most stared at me, enthralled and enchanted by me. I suppose, given all the new recruits, seeing a small woman of my stature helming the kings grand army was somewhat unsettling. I re-checked my weapons, and felt safer in my skills with my new arsenal. I waved to the force and we dashed out of the camp, to the various whooping and cat-calling, which trailed us for miles as the army followed in our steps, somewhat slower, and with much more earth-shaking finality. The rocking of the world had begun, and though my heart ached for her touch and her voice, I felt somehow so powerful knowing I was in command of this force that would topple an empire. The riding was hard. Summer was in full bloom when the campaign began, and nature let us know, in her own way, that she supported us with fair weather, and mild clime as we journeyed northward. We skirted all bases of operation we knew of, and stayed to the hidden vales and secret paths that no one traveled in our days. We outpaced the rest of our brothers, and rode silently, pounding a rhythm of long rides with minimal rest onto the land. We slowed our gait as we began our ascent up the hilly northern portion of Bercilak's domain, and rested frequently, and traveled slower. It had been several days since setting off, and we neared our target presently.

"Sir?"

I was roused from my waking dream, staring into the dancing flames and seeing only her face, the cross in its customary place, gripped between my fingers.

"What is it?"

It was a young man, maybe seventeen, no older than nineteen, and looking rather skittish. I nearly snorted at how ridiculous the jumpy youth looked.

"Scouts have reported movement in the valley next to us. What do we...do?"

He fiddled with his chain mail, bouncing on the balls of his feet. I sighed and grabbed the water bucket next to the fire, raising it up, and dousing the fire, making the boy squeak slightly. I shook my head in the new darkness and patted him gently.

"Go to the other camp-fires and tell them to douse their fires and take up defensive positions. You see those trees bordering the lip of the basin?"

He nodded nervously, his teeth chattering.

"Tell them to disperse men evenly around the ring, and do it quickly, and quietly. We hold post till morning, and we strike..."

I paused, eyes straining to see the lip of the basin we occupied. The tree coverage stopped on the northward slope, which let out to the direction the scout reported movement.

"At first light, we mount and ride down into the valley."

I did not have to have light to see the youth's face fall, or hear him sputter out some sort of counter-argument. I found his shoulder and gripped it tightly, earning a strangled cry of pain.

"I am the commander, and this is my army. Instruct the others, precisely as I have you, and see to it quickly, or I will have your head."

The fearful little man sped off, and my orders were seen to by the letter in mere minutes. I posted sentries at about every five men, and settled into my armour and blanket for a brief respite. I opened my eyes to a fog-filled plain, with a blazing moon, and little else to show me where I was. Regardless of details, I knew the Otherworld was upon me once more. I expected either Nimue or Spencer to show themselves, but neither did, and time continued as time continues in that far-off nether realm. I made to get up and wander to the bounds of this dream, knowing time was short, but was stopped by thundering high above my head. I moved my leg under me to push me up, and further bone-shaking thunder ensued. I sighed and unfolded my legs and lay on my back, staring into the starless ceiling above me.

"What is it you wish from me, O being?"

Thunder growled as an angry dog would back at me.

"Insolence is not tolerated, O little one. I suggest against you making such comments again."

I bit my tongue and continued to stare into the darkness above me, the acrid, burning fog swirling over my body.

"You must win this war."

My eyes widened, was this...

"I have no name, I am absolute, and everything, yet nothing all at once. Do not seek to name me or position me in a category. I defy logic, and render those who see me mad."

"...God?"

Laughter resounded around me and almost straight through me, shaking the space we occupied, as if a giant man above me found something deliciously funny.

"If that is what you wish to call me, little one, then do so. The war in Heaven rages on. It parallels the fight you wage yourself, for your king and country. Lose this war, and we will lose the war on high. Heaven's gates will burn, and I cannot guarantee the safety and protection of these souls."

"Who is..."

"Enough. Win this war. You need not know the answers to all at this moment. Wait for more as time passes."

I felt the tethers of my mind being pulled in a downward direction, akin to falling deeper asleep within this dream itself. Her face flashed before my eyes briefly as I sank into a level deeper than this dream. I felt, more than heard the being's last words in my soul.

"Love her. Never leave her."

I awoke to gentle shaking from my second in command, an older man named Lucas. He grinned at me, showing me holes where teeth should have been.

"My lord, the sun begins her ascent in due time, do you want me to signal the charge?"

"Have you sent scouts to count numbers?"

"It looks to be a hunting party of nobles and their guard, no more than fifty souls, and even then, maybe half of them have any armour of which to speak."

I tapped my chin in thought.

"I will lead the charge myself, gather my fifty men on the lip as soon as you can, and have men standing behind us on horseback. I plan to take the nobles hostage. As soon as you hear my hunting horn sound twice, send them down to subdue and shackle the nobles. I want none dead, do you hear me?"

He nodded, recounting the information briefly, and wheeled his steed away from me, making his way around the loose circle we formed. I rode to the bare lip and stood looking down into the valley. It was somewhat deeper than the one we were in, and choked off at the far north end. The slopes were not treacherously steep, but my guess was that most noblemen would never make that climb. With a handful of men at this end, we could successfully rout the party and take the first prisoners of war. My dream gnawed faintly at the back of my mind, but now was no time to brood, and I forced all thoughts of all this "god" and Spencer out, grasping my morning star and white-washed shield. My men joined me, and I spoke my thoughts and observations to which the men heartily agreed to. We would charge into the valley, and leave ten men behind with the rest standing behind them, and the fourty left would dispatch of the guards. I was explicit in my wishes that no nobleman be harmed, and just as I finished my plot, the sun peaked her tired head from behind a giant mountain, I blasted my mournful horn and charged us down.

The noblemen slept in a giant tent ringed by twenty or so heavily armoured guards. I pulled far ahead and hefted the morning star, letting loose a howl, just as they noticed us. I swung it into the nearest guard, and heard the cracking of the bones within the helmet as the spike flew into his helmet. I wrenched it out and wheeled, kicking down two guards, aware of my men swarming the guards and several marching into the tent to check for any more security. A youth charged at me with a lance, barely managing to keep his grip on it. I plucked it out of his hands and raised it to drive it through his chest. He fell to his knees in fright, and I paused. It was not a young man at all, but a girl, maybe my age or younger. She peered up at me with tear ringed eyes and I sighed. The carnage was finished, once it had begun, it ended in a heartbeat, and I alighted from my mount as I sounded my hunting horn, sending the party waiting down to us. I grasped the girl by the arm and steered her into the tent where the bloated retinue of some king cowered before us.

"Whose daughter is this?" I gently steered the girl out in front of me and kept her arm clasped in my hand.

A rather corpulent fellow came sputtering out of the ranks of men, and looked near tears, his face beet red, and his cheeks puffed out in indignant rage. He made to reach for her, but I made a move to my sheathed sword, which sent him scampering back to the foreground.

"In the name of King Aidan, and the united nations of Briton, I claim this retinue prisoners of war."

A hushed silence descended on the before frantic and terrified party. A swarthy and tall man stepped forward, his nose looking so sharp and hooked that a fish would have been snagged on it if so unfortunate to wander near his face. He spread his hands out palm upward, the universal sign of peace, and stepped forward slightly. I released my grip on the girl and nudged her to the gathering, where she turned to look at me with baleful defiance. I was sizing up who I assumed to be the advisor when she stepped in front of me and spat on my armour, her mouth opened to spew curses at me before she was charged by two of my guards. A tumult broke out briefly, ending in me shouting "SILENCE". The guards froze, fists poised to strike the girl.

"Let her go."

They reluctantly let her go and stepped back.

"No one will be harmed in this camp, I gave those orders, and I intend to hold to them. No harm ever came of spitting and foul language, just look at Bliant."

My sizeable guards rumbled with laughter like mighty thunder-heads and I knew at least on my end, tension had been dispelled. I pointed to the beaked man.

"You man, what is your name? Are you the advisor here?"

The hooked nose man spoke.

"I am the lord of these hills, stretching to Lord Bercilak's hold. I am King March of Whitchurch. I trust there is a prompt explanation for all this? We were in the midst of our summer hunts."

The men stared at me like fish. I myself was a tad bewildered. The rumors of war had been on the wind for MONTHS, there is no way one of Bercilak's vassals did not know of this song of death.

"I...you mean to tell me you have heard nothing of this invasion? The battle of Aidan and Bercilak has been brewing all year."

March looked startled out of his wits, and most of the people behind him looked equally puzzled. Even the spit-firing youth looked troubled.

"Is this...some sort of jest?"

My eyes widened. Bercilak could not have thought to...

"Bercilak made no mention of this at his war-council meeting last week. He said that the insurrection in the south had been solved."

It was now my turn to drop my jaw. It was a classic tactic. Bercilak saw the rallying happening upon his very doorstep, and he saw that the tides of us would not be beaten. He meant to sacrifice his land, and flee to Europa to rally those who hate Briton. Such tactics in the days before, during, or since the Romans are not that rare. The audacity and cowardice of this stunned our soldiers into silence. The civilians did not seem to notice and argued amongst themselves. I left the tent and conferred with several of the higher ranking soldiers. The question now was; do we hold our course and take out the settlements previously assigned, or do we head back to the main force, and inform Lucan what had happened. Further still, warily suggested by Lucas, that we head to the castle while a runner informs Lucan and from there besiege Bercilak's hold in Legeolium. All options seemed intriguing, but I was not sure what the most appropriate choice would be. I mused quietly on the fringe of the clearing we inhabited and was approached by Lucas.

"My lord, the men grow weary of milling about, what is it that you-"

"Enough!"

I hated it when the men questioned my decisions. I was put in charge for a reason, and I would not have stupid youths questioning my judgment. I kicked a rock over and glared briefly at the waving grass.

"We wait here overnight while I mull over our options. Keep the host on the ring in the previous position and leave ten men here to guard the prisoners. I will remain here apart for a time to think."

Lucas bowed and quietly loped off, and I saw most of the men retreat back up the hill as the sun reached its peak, blasting the tiny valley with unusual heat for this region. There was a clear stream to the right of the encampment, hidden in a grove of trees and boulders, which is where I set my post for the night. I perched on top of a huge boulder in the middle of the softly gurgling stream, and stared into the dancing diamonds being thrown up from the water. I missed her, this entire business was quickly becoming trite and contrived, this new development making me even angrier at this god-awful war. I reached out to her in my mind, and hoped that my love and agony in missing her reached that glorious mind. No thing was returned to my mind, so I figured it must have been lost among the other mental transmissions of the land. I hunkered down and stared deeply into the stream, focusing in on one pebble that refused to budge against the onslaught of water, and felt my soul slowly unlatching itself from my mortal coil. I closed my eyes to help the process, and when I opened them, I stood on the familiar ramparts of my castle, in my reading chair with a tome open on my knees. A hand laid itself on my shoulder, and I gently grasped it.

"I miss you."

I heard her laugh from behind me, and missed her that much more.

"What am I to do? I cannot decide on the course of action best for my country."

She wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder.

"Bercilak does indeed flee before this mighty wave that Aidan and you have raised. But all is not lost. He makes it known that he will remain at his hold in Legeolium for another few days before departing to his retreat Beverley on the shore. From there, ships await him and will whisk him to Gaul and beyond."

I kissed her gently and thought further.

"I will not volunteer such answers to your questions, but with such information, you will make the right decision."

"I wish this was over already, I miss you, and this entire business is infantile."

She kissed me gently on the temple, and the edges of my dream began to fray.

"I love you, Ashley."

I opened my eyes to a dark-sky, and sighed loudly, the gurgling stream continuing its journey past me. I stared up at the winking stars and felt slight comfort knowing that she looked at those same stars as well.

"I love you too."

I sighed and stood up, leaping to the shore, set on my decision. I spent the rest of the night daydreaming of us, and rose with the sun. The men were rallied, and I gave my directions. The band was to return with the prisoners, and I would scout out Legeolium, awaiting the armies arrival in several days time. Runners were sent ahead with this message, and the the expected arrival of the warmachine was no more than four or five days at most. I struck out alone, bored by the children I was assigned to lead, and somewhat weary of the bloodshed not even initiated yet.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Was re-inspired by going to Medieval Times for my good friends 19th birthday. Is that bad? Or rather is the fact that 18-20 year old's were heckling grown men with Monty Python quotes bad?

Wyrd knows.

My travels to Legeolium were nothing remarkable or spectacular, but rather the dry and dusty silence that descended upon the land like a leaden cloak was rather terrible in its silence and finality. I crossed officially into Bercilak-ian ruled lands at the Tutland river, now merely a brook in this baking and cracked land, it looked rather as if plague had descended upon the land, with very few game in the well worn runs and blasted, desolate earth everywhere. The sky was dazzingly bright, not a cloud or wisp in sight for days and the way was rather banal other than the oddly marked environment. It took me two and a half days of riding, and knew the war-machine was perhaps another two days behind me when I finally came to the seat of the unholy powers of our High King. Let it be said that I had never wandered this far in my service to the knights of my youth or to my young lord, and as such had never seen the proud, bustling cities of the haughty men of the north. I had heard stories of course of the clustered, bright, shining and prosperous marketplaces, but nothing of the deeds or actual inhabitants of the land. Let me say that I could die happily and never, ever set foot into a Northern city for as long as I live.

Legeolium was as crowded and bustling as it had been told of in the castles and moors of my homeland, but no one commented on the fuming filth and horrible stench of the streets and beings of the city. The roads were raised cobblestones regularly repaved, and the richer quarters of the city were as clean and whitewashed as any castle, but ye gods the city proper! Running along the oddly pristine roads were troughs full of the most horrifying, liquified and solid wastes from humans, animals and business's alike. I witnessed people emptying pots and jars and bowels and stomachs and anything dirty within reach into these rudimentary drainage systems. The main problem was of course that the Northern cities were sequestered on a plateau and thus, there was no natural incline to empty it of its horrible offal, though I repeatedly thanked Cerunnos, lord of all wilderness and forests that the muck never found its way into actual country or surrounding areas, it would have destroyed all wildlife and left a blasted cursed piece of land eerily similar to the hellish spit of land, Titangel. I jostled and rubbed elbows with all manner of creature ranging from hogs and cattle to pompous overfed noblemen and insane old beggars man and woman alike all offering "services" for only the barest fee or flagon of ale. I left my horse stabled in the wilds beyond the city walls, nobody had settled outside of the high shining walls of this city, and little did I wonder, none of them looked fit to live the rest of the day here, let alone in a setting that did not have a jar of wine and large couch at the ready for them. I had donned hunting gear packed by the ever-watchful Lucan, and had pulled the hood tight and low about my face, leaving all semblance of my pristine arms in the care of a hidden tree root far beyond these people's knowledge. With only a sack of coins and a dagger (never my favoured weapon) I set off to scout and buy information that would give us a much needed leg up on Bercilak. Though the hunting party had spoken of a war council where all rumours of civil disobedience in the south were put to rest, the city seemed poised on the edge of a knife, ready to fight and fall, or simply pick itself up and flee, guards mingling and matching a citizen one to one for every person I saw. This was a city preparing itself for a raid. Or a war.

The castle itself sat on a hill in the back of the city, the castle grounds stretching to three sides of the walls and brandishing its heavy gates and armoured soldiers like wards to evil spirits. I dared not step foot onto the causeway leading to the drawbridge but made several circuits about the street bordering the moat and castle proper, detailing notes and sketches on paper bought from a local art vendor and explaining to suspicious guards of my uncouth upbringing in the barbaric south and my wish to study refined northern architecture, pleasing them to no end and making them pliable to questions without the slightest bit of provocation or gold. The castle itself sat upon uneven and boggy ground, though not even a fraction as bad as Melandra once was, was still soggy and pliable ground that claimed many patrolling guards sabatons with its squelching greed, the walls were reinforced rocks from quarrys near the Wall and the castle regularly housed as many as six to seven hundred guards in its grounds with reinforcements stationed in several barracks around the city. Of the army they spoke nothing of, only shrugging at the heightened security and number of guards, merely remarking that the orders were directly from Bercilak and that these days the old dog was seen worrying the ramparts of his castle late at night, protected and followed by a guard of fifteen heavily armoured guards with the most deadly of all weaponry in the kingdom. I discreetly tried to discern if this was a nightly ritual, but the guards would not budge on this answer, to which I countered with compliments on the fine water quality and depth of the moat. The guards laughed uproariously at my attempt and managed between bouts of laughter that the moat was a stinking ditch, no more than 5 feet deep all around, the quality and colour of the water did the moats and guards job for it, making it so that those tasked with moat watch regularly left to pubs in the wee hours, not at all concerned with evil-doers who would want to even step foot into the depths. Of this and more did I learn in a relatively short time with several guards, all clustered about me, delighted by my accurate drawings and my polite questions, so much so that they all jostled and proclaimed loudly that I should join them at a local pub. Balin, the gruffest and oldest of the company volunteered to walk me to the tavern and meet his bretheren in arms when the time permitted. We kept to the side-streets, him claiming that to be caught at this time of twilight, with a stranger and on duty would mean flaying and two weeks at the least in the dungeons.

"So how many of those men did you fool with that there hoody, lassy?"

I only smiled slyly and shrugged, both hands inside my cloak, made to look as if I only had them in my pockets, but one cradled my dagger, and the other was on a small rag soaked in noxious fumes.

"You are not truly here to look at the glories of my beautiful kingdom are you?"

We never broke stride and progressed slowly down the stinking and cramped quarters hidden behind the nicer quarter, working our way from the castle to the slums.

"I am only a traveler wishing to learn more of this land and what makes it so."

"An awful lot does this traveler wish to know of our king and castle, no?"

I looked up at him past the edge of my hood and saw he stalked forward at my pace, his hands swinging loosely by his sides, though his calm and relaxed demeanour did nothing to relax my hands on their weapons.

"Perhaps so, though what difference could one stranger make in knowing such things as I have learned?"

He shrugged back to me and stole a quick glance, his grizzled and scarred face betraying nothing.

"So said Oidipus at the great city of Thebes, young one."

I laughed lightly though my hands continued to clench yet harder and my body begin to tense. He laid a bear of a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently, guiding me now to the right instead of using the wall as our guide and turned us out onto the main concourse, now lit by torches in sconces.

"No need for such clutching at your weapons little one, I understand perfectly what you are doing here."

I stopped in the middle of the cobblestones and tugged my hood back, looking him full in the face for the first time. He stood opposite of me and crossed his arms.

"You wish to kill my king."

I nearly sprang at him, thinking he would do the same, or that floods of guards would come from every opening of the street, but people merely walked and stumbled past, the moon now on the rise and sounds of debauchery and laughter floating on the stanking wind.

"I will do no such thing as to try to stop you, kill you, or alert his highness. I will be honest, I have not much care for what happens to this stinking rats hole of decay and death. However, you would need many men for this task you are planning."

"I have many."

"Thousands?"

"Thousands that shake the very ground and drink the rivers dry wherever it moves."

I stared up at him defiantly and he only smiled crookedly, missing all but his four canine teeth.

"And you? A woman sent to lead a mans army?"

"Trusted by a very powerful, wise and benevolent king, yes."

He suddenly broke eye contact and stared up at the sky, wide-eyed and focused, as if hunting for something in the vaulted planes.

"He does not know, does he?"

My entire body seized, caused my hands to tremble and my vision to double.

"What...what did you-"

"He does not know what you and the lady get up to in the dead of night, what delicious games you play together when she is not nestled in his embrace."

I began backing away, not even aware my legs were carrying me backwards.

"Oh, I will cause you no harm, I am not She. We only communicate through my dark, beautiful dreams in the midst of blackest night."

I turned to run but he clapped a hand on my arm and held me gently, but firmly in place.

"If she has not found your forces, she will. All that will approach the city is a broken husk of the glory you raised. Bloodied, walking skeletons and shades of the brave men you have come to know and love. Turn back, find your brothers and go, never to return here again. I warn you, Ashley of Titangel, she will not again fail where she has before with you."

I swallowed forcefully and tried to mask my shaking. I had nothing to say, could think of nothing with which to retort, because in my minds eye I saw all these things and more. Despair was closing in on my mind and I could feel the choking terror of the nighted depths and horrible cold that Nimue controlled. Just as I was about to turn tail and bolt, I looked to the sky and saw the morning star. Brightly it stood out among the others, paling them in comparison and shaming even the moon with its ruddy tint and beacon like twinkling. I gazed up and up at it, and could see her face there, framed among the sky, crowned in stars and her eyes as bright and blazing as our evenstar. She seemed to speak to me from cosmic gulfs far and vast beyond my comprehension, beyond the angels she swore were my past lives and the very spheres that balanced in delicate harmony and song with the rest of existence. She spoke one word, and with that word, I managed to knee Balin in the stomach, breaking his hypnotic hold on me with his strangely familiar icy eyes and slither out of the city without further incident. It gave me the courage to recover my horse and my arms, to ready myself and stand at the crest of the hill overlooking the city gates, even as I felt the very earth speak to me that my brothers would arrive by morning. I gripped her cross in fevered and shaking hands and beheld the star, the star which I knew to be hers, or perhaps even her, projecting itself as Spencer into this plane. I looked into the very fiery depths that I had come to love in her cool blue eyes and felt more than heard that word.

"_Go."_

A/N: Feels nice to be back at it, more like a braindump then anything, not so bad when I sit down and force myself to focus. Anyways, work before sunup and an anniversary to be had. Cheers all.


End file.
